


Project Mary

by Rosriel



Series: Sorokino Symposium [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Canon-Typical Violence, Familial Abuse, Multi, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2020-12-24 20:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 40,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21105317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosriel/pseuds/Rosriel
Summary: We, researchers and academics at the University of Sorokino welcome interested parties and press to our Symposium on the 57 Years' War in the Former Republic of Gilead. Join us, either in person, or via Netizen, in discussion of the Sorokino capsule, whose contents may reveal the biggest international cooperation to rescue people from Gilead ever documented.In addition, the University of Sorokino, for the first time, opens its completed translated archive recordings of testimonies from former Gilead defectors and refugees to the international public.





	1. Alexander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which one of the architects of Gilead falls from his self made tower.

_ A good man obtaineth favour of the Lord: but a man of wicked devices will he condemn. - Proverbs 12:2_

“What about the mask?” I asked.

The Guardian startled, as if he didn’t expect to be questioned by a prisoner. He hesitated, and swallowed visibly before saying to the prisoner,

“The Elders decreed that it won’t be necessary."

Of course. It wasn’t every day that an important figure, a former Elder, was put on trial, and publicly at that. Which makes me wonder if they would drag their wives and household along to watch the undoubtedly dull affair. Do the women wear a special color for the occasion? Would it be called Trial blue? Or Tribulations blue? It’s strange that my mind would conjures up image of these harpies in their ridiculous garments, as I'm being marched towards what presumably is my death. Shades of colors was one of those minuscule details that Gilead seems to pride itself on so much, and I can imagine that some newly minted Guardian was assigned to sit down and delegate these fine details, like a tiny color coded ants scurrying in an ant hill. Except ants are all females and there was no place, or even need for women to work in Gilead. I stood up and allowed the guard to place the handcuffs on me. It wasn’t a drowning then. If it was, they would’ve added leg cuffs, it makes adding the weights easier when you push someone off the platform. I think the halls that I’m marched down used to be a high school hall, from the remnants of where lockers used to stand there. As we passed by an open door, I could see piles of discarded chairs and desks crammed into one room. So they’ve held me in a converted classroom.

I think they have imprisoned me for either two weeks, or three weeks? It was quite unclear, time can pass strangely when you're alone. If I’d simply decided to issue that order…. I would be on the other side of the bench with the Elders themselves, undoubtedly passing judgement on the weak willed and corrupted. What a joke. The society that was promised to be built on the value of family, of strong bonds and ties to the American dream; those who uphold it were all too willing to sacrifice their lambs on the altar. The Guardian gestures for me to get into the van. It would seem that I’m the only occupant. There’s a smell that lingers, blood, I think, from the stains in the seats. He climbs into the van with me, one hand still on the trigger of his gun. What, does he think that I would run away? The Guardians are traditionally masked, with their eyes being the only thing that can be seen. I thought it was stupid, when the masks were suggested, did the Elders really think the women would even risk a glance at a Guardian? Wouldn’t it complicate security protocols? Anyone can hid beneath a mass produced black mask.

They all vetoed me, and I was right after all. Of course if I bring this up now no doubt they’d add another sentence on top of my sentence. Or is it sentences? The Guardian sitting in front of me seems young. He has blue eyes, and when the van jostles, he flinches and clutches his gun tighter to him. Like a child with a cherished toy. When he was a child, I remembered that my son used to carry around a gray rabbit. This stopped when he was seven, and I took him hunting. Joseph was a stellar shot for a first timer but he was too kind hearted to really look at his kill. I think he got rid of the toy rabbit after that.

I shook my head. There was no point in remembering the past, I should be thinking about now. What would the Elders charge me with? Treason, I think, is what they’d charged me with first. Refusal to obey direct orders, might be another one. Blasphemy, if they’re being generous. The first one is enough to guarantee a spot on the wall, though I’ve heard that blasphemy means they cut your tongue out first. I run my tongue down back of my molar.

It’s a good thing they didn’t charge me with blasphemy first.

The van stopped, and there was some rattling as the driver opens the door that leads to the courthouse. I let the twitchy Guardian step out first, and allowed myself to calmly walk out. There’s no need to die because a jumpy kid can’t handle a gun. Guardians are lined up as I ascended the steps to the courthouse. There’s fewer of them than usual, I think the majority must have been ordered to run around and put out the fires.

They’ve kept the courthouses for their original purposes, though any remnants of the old country had been removed. Massachusetts’ flag, for instant, is gone. Instead there’s a rather garish cross with two hands raised in a prayer. Gilead is many things, but aesthetically pleasing designs it is not, probably because all the designers were culled when the takeover happened. Inside, they’ve ordered some poor soul to hand carve UNDER GOD, LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FOR ALL with stone lettering. It’s hand carve because due to electricity rations, using electric tools is forbidden unless absolutely necessary.

They’ve lead me to the furthest room, and the door’s already opened. The normal place where the accused man would’ve sat, alongside his lawyer has been replaced by a barred cage. The Guardian opened the door and I stepped inside. I was right after all, they did allow the women to attend, and they did all wear a darker shade of blue, sitting in separate seats from their husbands like tamed robins in cages. None of them wore black. Hypocrites.

The lawyer, if he were to even be called one, I doubt Schmidt had even touched the dusty tomes of a book from before, stood. They’re not called lawyers now, the proper term is judges. He was positively salivating, I could see it gathering in the corners of his mouth. I hope they turn on him too, with time.Schmidt stood, and walked up to the box where the Elders sat, he spared me a patronizing glance and said:

“This man has been accused of deliberately ignoring orders, allowing the abduction of Gilead born children and Handmaids by the rebellious insurgents and their allies.” He paused, most likely allowing his brain to cool from the three syllable words he said, “He was an Elder of Gilead, he should know better!”

This was articulated by slamming his fist on the table in front of the Elders. This was articulated by slamming his fist on the table in front of the Elders.

"I call on the former Guardian Michael to testify."

So they've promoted the boy already. I suppose it's a good thing. Micheal has the fanatical devotion that they seem to favor now. I didn't recognize him at first, because he was dressed in the neatly pressed uniformed of a newly appointed Elder, and someone ordered him to scrub his face. He's smiling though now, as he stepped down from the Elder box and into the Testimony seat across from me.

"Is it true, former Guardian Michael, that on the day of July 4th, you were in the Surveillance center with the Accused?"

"Yes, I was." said Michael, he didn't look at me, the coward, "First shift at 6:00 sharp."

"Can you tell the Witnesses, please, what the Accused did, from the beginning?"

This time there was hesitation. Micheal glanced at the Elder box. From the corner of my eye, I saw one of them, I’ve forgotten his name, nod, and Michael continued.

"Nothing happened until 6:30, that was when the radars went off." he paused, “It was Captain- I mean, the Disgraced Rogers.”

This statement elicited a gasp among the wives and visible anger with the Elders. The court was hushed quickly though, no one wanted to draw attention to themselves.

"And what was said to you?" Said Schmidt "He said he wanted to speak to P- I mean the Accused." Said Michael, "So I called the Accused over, and I couldn't hear what they said. Then there was calls, suddenly, from everywhere, and I was trying to resolve them. I couldn't hear what they said."

I knew Michael well enough to know when he's nervous. He's openly fidgeting with his sleeves now, swallowing nervously. If he faints on the stand does that delay the trial?

"I wasn't sure what happened, but I think, I think I turned around and, the Accused had his gun pointed at me, and he told me to step away from the controls, and leave. I didn't, and he shot me in the arm, then he cuffed me to the radiator."

I should've shot him in the head. Michael turned to look at the Elders, "I apologize for not being able to fulfill my orders."

Schmidt turned to me, gloating. I think he can taste blood in the air, and he always had a strange glint in his eyes when Particulation ceremonies happened. He'd always insisted to attend each and everyone. I ran my tongue down the back of my molar.

Not mine, if I can help it.

"What does the Accused which to say in defense?"

Did they expect me to beg?

"Children are a heritage of the Lord." I said, “It is not my place to decide on their premature entering of His kingdom."

I think I've struck a nerve. There's a flurry of whispers from the wives' corner, and from the Elders, Hensler, bless his disgusting piety, spoke up;  
"I would like to question the Accused, if permission is granted.

There were Echoes of ‘permission granted', after which he stood up, and picking up a piece of paper in front of him. He walked towards my cell and held out the paper.

"I believe you know what this is."

White paper, so abundant before, is now a rarity. The paper he held up in front of me was a recycled brown and colored. Someone had printed a black and white drawing on it, a Norman Rockwell from the past. The black and white didn't do it any favors, I think it's better in color. The original used to be displayed at the United Nations headquarters, before it was taken over, or possibly bombed out. I'd even taken Joseph to see it before, several times, in fact. I'd always encouraged him to enter the global stage. This picture’s different though, the artist had chosen to move the text to the bottom, but kept the original words DO UNTO OTHERS AS YOU WOULD HAVE THEM DO UNTO YOU.

"This was dropped, as the planes were leaving your district." Said Hensler, “A corrupting influence, a temptation, the Eyes have recovered over five hundred of these pictures, I ask you again, do you know what this is?"

I blink languidly at him. Why bother answer? But then my eyes caught on the blonde woman next to the man, the one holding the child, because it wasn't, it couldn't be- I could recognize Joseph and Mary's face anywhere. They were there, smiling at me from the picture.  
I could hear her voice on the radio now, a child’s voice-  
“Grandfather, you must let us go. Please. Let us go."

Am I not merciful then, to let my own kin escape? I stared at Hensler, and said, “No, I don’t.”

Hensler scowled at me, and pointed at the picture again, “The Rebels spread their filth all over Gilead, and this one especially was in your district. Do you not know what this is?"

“No.” I said coolly. “I have no idea."

I will die happy, if my legacy lives on. I think Hensler looks disappointed, possibly expecting me to beg for my life. Did he think that I would cower before his simpering face? I suppose the other Elders are disappointed too, because I could hear angry mutters when I denied Hensler an answer.

Hensler walks back to the box, and Schmidt speaks up, his face gleeful,  
“I pass this verdict on the behalf of the Elders of Gilead, and proclaim the Accused to be guilty of aiding and abetting the Enemy, of storing illicit materials-"

They’re going to read out an entire essay on my guilt, and then presumably hang the dead man afterwards. No need to waste bullets. I smiled. There’s a delicious irony in denying these bloodthirsty dogs a spectacle.

“-sentence the Accused to death."

“No.” I said, “I don’t think you will."

I think they’ll throw me into some unmarked grave. Or they’ll strung me on one of the walls as a traitor, face uncovered so their newly minted Elders can stare. It doesn’t matter, I, Alexander Pierce, have denied them a victory.

I tasted the bitter almond in my mouth as I bit down on the pill, dislodged from the concealed capsule. I’ve specifically asked for a fast acting poison. There was nothing. Then, a sudden spike of pressure around my rib cage, I faintly heard myself gasp, felt fathom chills and sweat run down my arms. Shooting pains went up my arms, and my knees collapsed, my hands grasping blindly towards the bars of the cage. I’m going to die like a trapped animal. But I still won. My blood lives on. That’s all that matters.There’s thundering footsteps as the crowd rush towards me, faint screams and gasps of the spectators. It sounds like the distant ocean waves. There’s a window in the courtroom’s roof, and I can see the blue sky. It’s very blue, like the color of Joseph’s eyes. I’ve won. I've. Won.


	2. Brock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two soldiers listen to a banned story over a radio.

_Oh, come out with your cross and hands,_

_Come out and fight me like a man_

_Show your bride how you won medals down in Danvers_

_Tell them how the U.S.A. made you run like hell away,_

_From the green and lovely lake of Koocanusa._

\- recovered Rebel song circa 2050s

The radio was fucking broken. The only reason anyone would bother taking a shift in the god-damn woods at four in the morning sharp was an opportunity to listen to the radio. Of course it had to be broken when it was his turn. He’s stuck alone listening to some ear numbing static until Rollins comes back from jerking it in the woods and maybe he can persuade him to give up that cigarette he’s been hoarding. Rollins was always finding things around the city, cigarettes being one of them. Brock imagines Rollins hovering around the Commanders, waiting for a discarded cigarette to fall and scooping it up into his tin cans. Not that it was bad, mind you, there’s a booming trade in illicit cigarettes around the barracks. Brock sighed, and pulled up the floorboards that hid the radio. It was best to put the broken thing away, before someone walks in on him holding it. Speak of the devil, there was a creaking of the wooden ladder as someone climbed up to the guard tower.

“Evening.” said Rollins, his dark hair flying wildly.

“You’re back early.” said Brock, “Why’s that?"

“Nothing’s on?” said Rollins, “It’s only ten, there’s usually some book being read."

“Radio’s broken.” said Brock, gesturing to the radio hidden underneath the floorboard. Rollins shrugged, moving towards the hidden radio and removing it. He eyes it critically, turning the dials back and forth.

“Could be the antenna." said Rollins, “I’ll borrow one soon enough to fix it."

“There’s still two hours left.” said Brock, eyeing Rollins’ pockets hopefully, “You don’t happen to have a cigarette?"

“Nope. I’ve got boiled eggs, though, want one?”, he held one out to Brock.

“Where did you even get eggs?” said Brock, taking the egg. He sniffed at it hesitantly and was pleasantly surprised that it was fresh.

“Borrowed it.” said Rollins, with an amused smile. “You sure about that radio? Let me at it."

Brock shrugged, gesturing to the radio under the floorboards.

“Be my guest."

Rollins pulls out a battered looking screwdriver, missing its handle from his jacket and pulls out the radio. He frowns in concentration, as he carefully unscrews its back. There was some clinking sounds, and Rollins turns the dial experimentally. They both heard the slight screech of static, and the radio crackled back into life. A voice came from the radio, presumably reading.

_\- Ah! Here is a subject, exclaimed the king, when he saw the little prince coming. And the little prince asked himself: How could he recognize me when he had never seen me before? He did not know how the world is simplified for kings. To them all men are subjects._

_“_Guess it wasn’t dead after all.” said Rollins, smiling happily, pocketing the screwdriver. “You know this book?"

Brock eyes him suspiciously, then shook his head.

“I didn’t read much. Before.” he said.

“Shame.” said Rollins, “Doesn’t matter, it’s a good one.” He rolled his shoulders, and leaned back on the wall. “It’s the Little Prince.” He clarifies, upon seeing Brock’s confused look. “Had it read to me."

_\- For what the king fundamentally insisted upon was that his authority should be respected. He tolerated no disobedience. He was an absolute monarch. But, because he was a good man, he made his orders reasonable._

“Lucky you.” said Brock, “Your mama must’ve been a real scholar."

“No.” Rollins said, “She didn’t. And she wasn’t.” Rollins paused, giving Brock a pointed scowl, “Do you want to listen or not?"

“OK, OK calm down.” said Brock, “I didn’t think they’d read some fairy tale. I thought it’d be something cooler."

By something cooler he meant actual music, not the breathy choir hymn that they played non-stop in the barracks and streets. Hell, he thinks he'll even settle for Wonderwall at this rate, which is a sign of how fall he'd fallen.

_\- But the little prince was wondering… The planet was tiny. Over what could the king really rule?_

_\- Sire— over what do you rule?_

_\- Over everything, said the king with magnificent simplicity_

_ “_Brock, just because you only like songs-"

“Hey! They banned all music except those hymns!"

“-just give it a try.” said Rollins, “You’re not the only one missing normal stuff."

Brock imagined a young Rollins being tucked into bed and asking for a story. The thought was ludicrous. The guy has a permanent scowl super glued to his face every day of the week. Hopefully the radio would play some songs after the story was done. In any case, he shouldn’t piss off Rollins. The man could literally get his hands, well, borrow any forbidden contraband. Everyone in the barracks, not counting the newbies, knew to ask him. Though he did have his limits. Brock didn't think he'd ever live to hear the words _I'm not risking my life for you to choke your chicken_ whispered so angrily before.

“What’s the book about then?” asked Brock.

“It says in the title.” said Rollins, “The Little Prince, it’s about a boy who lives on a planet and travels around other planets. He’s visiting the King’s planet right now."

“That doesn’t make any sense."

"It's a fairy tale, buddy, like you said, they don't always have to make sense.

_\- And the stars obey you?_

_\- Certainly the do, the king said, they obey instantly. I do not permit insubordination._

“That sounds like some bastard we know.” said Brock, amused despite himself. Whoever’s reading this has perfected the preachy do-gooder voice that everyone had to listen to every Sunday. No scratch that, you don't have to listen if you're on duty, which was why the Sunday shift list were the first to be filled with names and you can probably trade some tokens for a nice Sunday off. It's a pretty well known secret, Sunday shifts and a shift in this part of the woods at night. Brock thinks that as long as lines are somewhat toed, the Commander doesn't care.

_\- One must require form each one the duty which each one can perform, the king went on accepted authority rests first of all on reason. If you ordered your people to go and throw themselves into the sea, they would rise up in revolution. I have the right to require obedience because my orders are reasonable._

“This is a book right?” Brock said hesitantly, the last sentence sounding far too much like what the Commander would say, “They didn’t just made this up?"

“Well, some guy did in 1940 something France.” said Rollins, “You’re liking this now?"

“No!” Brock said, a little bit too quickly. He thinks that Rollins isn’t convinced because he smiles at the denial. “How’d you remember when it was published anyway?"

“Dumb facts that stick in your brain.” replied Rollins.

They both jumped at the next voice that came out of the radio.

_\- I want to read next dad! I want to read this part now._

_\- OK, OK, get up here, Emma._

Rollins blinks rapidly. They could hear rustling coming from the radio, as the people on the other side moved and adjusted themselves. Then the story continued, with the little girl taking turns with the narrator, her father, Brock realized. Lucky kid. His own father used to back at late night, takes a swing at anyone near and then opens another bottle.

_\- I have nothing to do here, he said to the king, so I shall set out on my way again_

_\- Do not go said the king, I will make you a minister of Justice!_

_\- But there is nobody here to judge!_

_\- Hum! Hum! I have good reason to believe that somewhere on my planet there is an old rat. You can judge this old rat. From time to time you will condemn him to death. Thus his life will depend on your justice. _

The radio crackled again, this time with the girl’s, and other children’s abrupt giggles.

_\- You sound so funny when you do that voice!_

_\- Hum! Hum! I order you to continue reading!_

There was even more laughter at that, and the little girl continued, sounding as if she was trying very hard not to laugh. Even Rollins smiled.

"I always found that part funny as a kid." Rollins said, "I'd imagine a rat dressed a jumpsuit and somehow they'd have small enough shackles."

Brock stared at him, and Rollins laughed.

"What? I had a very active imagination.", Rollin rolls his eyes at the look on Brock's face, "Not that kind of imagination."

_\- I replied the little prince, do not like to condemn anyone to death. And now I think I will go on my own way._

_\- No said the king._

_\- If Your Majesty wishes to be promptly obeyed, he should be able to give me a reasonable order._

"Shame you can't say that to him." said Brock.

"No one says you're not allowed to throw insults." said Rollins, "You're just not free to keep your tongue afterwards."

Brock laughed.

"You think they keep the tongues?" said Brock.

"Probably." said Rollins, "I bet they keep tally of how many tongues they've taken in their offices."

They shared a laugh, and for a second, Brock could've imagined that this was the time before, when they'd both gone off drinking in the pubs and shared a cigarette in a dingy alley afterwards. Rollins, he thinks, is his oldest friend.

_\- The grown-ups are very strange, the little prince said to himself as he continued on his journey._

_\- The book says you're strange!_

_\- You’re very funny Emma. I think, kids, we should finish for today. Do you all want to say good bye to our listeners?_

_\- Aww! I wanna get to fox part!_

_\- What did I say about spoilers! We want everyone to enjoy to the story. C'mon, let’s say good bye now, we’ll continue the Little Prince tomorrow._

There was a chorus of byes and shuffling, as the children presumably left the room. Brock glances over at Rollins, who was wiping at his eyes.

He decided that he wouldn’t question Rollin’s sudden sentimentality. He'd felt an odd twinge too, when he heard children laugh so openly, so very different from the silence from the children he’d seen here.

“So the kid’s going to a fox planet?"

“Fox planet?” said Rollins, giving him a puzzled look, “Oh, right, no he’s going to meet a fox.”

“He doesn’t have a name besides the little prince? That’s dumb."

“I thought you didn’t like kid stories.” laughed Rollins, “I dunno. I mean it’s about a pilot who meets the little prince and this is his way of remembering the kid."

“Well that cleared up so many questions.” said Brock sarcastically.

“If you’re interested, I can borrow the book.” said Rollins, looking at him with a strange eagerness.

“Didn’t they burn the books?"

“Not all of them.” said Rollins, “Especially if you know where to borrow things. But you can’t keep a book for more than one night. That’s the rules. You won’t have a chance to listen to the rest, this shift's booked for the next week."

“Maybe.” said Brock, “I didn’t know that people still had books."

“They don’t.” said Rollins giving him a look that Brock interpreted as, you are dumbass, “Not officially. Why do you think books only stay for one night?"

“Oh.” he said, “That makes sense."

“We should leave.” said Rollins, glancing at his watch, “Make sure you get rid of those eggshells, those newbie guardians really get a kick out of carding anyone for contrabands. Even if it's just eggshells. "

The radio was turned off, and placed back into its hiding place. They descended the ladder, making their way back to the barracks with a small pause as Rollins buried the eggshells in the soil and combed his hair back into the Gilead issued helmet.


	3. Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the story is told from a Martha's point of view.

_One, two, three!_

_A good child listens carefully_

_A nice child obeys joyfully_

_I’m a sweet child I obey_

_When my name’s called I say right away_

_Yes sir! Yes ma’am!_

_One, two, three!_

_-Gilead children’s rhyme_

"Natalie, tell those Marthas that I don't like the smell of bleach with my laundry. Tell them to do something about it."

"Yes, ma'am." said Natasha.

Mrs. Pittman gave her a long piercing stare from her embroidered sofa.

"And keep Zibiah from talking to those Econochildren, I want her back home immediately."

"Yes, ma'am." said Natasha, wincing inwardly at the ridiculous name. No wonder the poor girl wanted to play with the other children, her _approved_ friends were vicious their insults. _Zibiah, Zibiah, we don't like liars_, was a taunt she heard often enough. _Zibiah, Zibiah, your hair's on fire_, was also another one.

She was dismissed with a wave from Mrs. Pittman, who went back to her knitting. Natasha backed out of the parlor room, and made her way down the carpeted stairs towards the kitchen.

Joy was kneading bread when she opened the door, and their eyes met briefly.

"Blessed day." said Natasha.

"Blessed day." said Joy, blowing her brown hair from her eyes, "Are you going to the Academy?"

"Yes." said Natasha.

"Don't take her back through the streets near Loaves and Fish." said Joy, the wooden board suddenly rattling under the force of her hands. "There's been a - " she motioned for Natasha to come closer, and whispered the words into her ear, "hanging of a girl." Joy shook her head, swallowing hard. "Remember, please."

"I will." said Natasha, putting on her coat and opening the door to the garden outside.

They were strangers to each other, as Joy didn't sleep in the same dormitory house as Natasha, and the two only met three or four brief times a week. There was quite a demand for goods baked by a former professional baker and Joy was shuffled around the houses seemingly at random, possibly on the whims of the Commanders or their wives.

Natasha thinks that Joy is fond of Zibiah, because she'd seen the older woman sneak small cookies and a pat on the head or shoulder to the girl when Natasha brings her back through the kitchens. It wasn't often, they only use the kitchen entrance when Mrs. Pittman was hosting a party.

Children are a heritage of the Lord, but only seen when I want them to be seen, was the motto of the house. She wasn't sure what Mrs. Pittman would do if her household was to be blessed with a baby. Would the woman rage and fume when the inevitable spit up stain the white clothes embroidered in preparation for the blessed arrival? Would she, god forbid, shake the baby? She'd shaken Zibiah plenty, when the girl first came here.

At least she hadn't used the switch, that was left to them. The first time Mrs. Pittman had first handed her the switch in Zibiah's room, ordering her to give the_ disobedient girl_ twenty lashes, before storming away, Natasha had asked Zibiah if she knew when to lie. The girl had nodded tearfully at her, and Natasha had belted the pillow instead, telling Zibiah to cry out when the switch landed on the pillow. She'd had to swallow her bile and hit Zibiah twice afterwards, to make sure that there was marks, but the shaky smile the girl had given her afterwards had established a tentative trust between them.

It was a trust Natasha intended never to break, which was why they would be taking the slightly longer route home instead. She moved to open the iron gates and stepped out to the pavement, her body walking on autopilot towards the Academy. Her thoughts wandered back to the words Joy had said. The hanging of a girl. What could a girl possibly have done to warrant a hanging? Reject a marriage? Run away? Where could she possibly had run off to? The district had strict curfews and dense forests bordered the town. A young girl, unaccompanied and unfamiliar with the woods would not have gone far.

Even walking down one street block, Natasha could already see from the corner of her eye, three soldiers on standby, guns in hand. They ignored her, she was a Martha in green, and Marthas don't really stir the pot. A young girl in the white of a new bride or the garishly striped clothes of a new Econowife wouldn't have gone far.

Maybe Emilia would tell her when she got back to the dormitory. Emilia seemed to know the most out of all the Marthas, most likely because she had the dubious honor of having a permanent post at Commander Pierce's house.

In any case, she's approaching the Academy gates and should get her Pass out. Everyone knows that Guardians are always on edge after a punishment is handed out.

"Pass!" snapped one of the Guardians from behind the gates, as she stepped up towards .

"Blessed day." she said, handing them her green paper pass. Plastic wasn't allowed now, and it was a wonder the flimsy paper wasn't easily lost. She thinks that they should've stuck with plastic in any case, it would have made it harder for counterfeiters.

"Go in." the Guardian told her.

She nodded deferentially and stepped passed them into the Academy courtyards, and the faint sounds of children singing could already be heard. Natasha had heard this song often enough that she could recite it in her sleep, the creepy hand gestures accompanying it and all.

The song grew louder and louder as she approached the building, and she could make out the final song verse coming from the inner courtyard.

_"Like a gun in the hand of a righteous man._

_so are we to our fathers_

_trained are we so we can kill the enemy_

_We are Gilead's sons and daughters."_

She didn't know which one of the myriad of Gilead rhymes were the creepiest. Or were they made worst because they had the similar upbeat cadence as the songs from before?

Natasha wasn't the only Martha who came to pick up a child. There were already Marthas picking up children in the courtyard. She could see Miriam walking towards her, holding the hand of her charge. Their eyes met briefly, and Natasha muttered: "No fish today."

Miriam nodded, eyes grim, and nodded her head. Natasha knew, as a common rule, that Marthas were distrustful of each other, because there was always one willing to talk to the Eyes for a better placement, a better household. But none of them would willingly expose their charge to the darker sides of Gilead, and those that did were shunned. A shunning by Marthas is one of the more subtler cruelties.

She was shaken from her thoughts by a enthusiastic cry of, "Natalie!"

Zibiah had broken away from the pink clad girls' group and was waving at her. Natasha smiled and walked briskly towards her, gently pushing her hand down and admonishing "Zibiah, what did I tell you about waiting patiently?"

"I know, I know." said Zibiah, "I didn't do it yesterday, but today, we have Ms.Arby and she's nicer and you look sad so-" Zibiah said in a rush stopping at Natasha's shushing motion.

"You can tell me later." said Natasha, "We have to get going, your mother wants you back home."

Zibiah looked crestfallen. "You mean, we can't go by the river?"

"Not today, Zibiah." said Natasha, thankful that the noise of the other children would drown out the question. Mrs. Pittman would be all to happy to ban any river outings if she knew they happened.

"Do you think that-"

"I think we should go home." said Natasha, cutting off Zibiah's question. She could see the plump figure of Arby approaching them, and plastered a smile on her face.

"I trust that everything is fine?" said Arby, smiling widely at Natasha and Zibiah.

"God willing." said Natasha, gripping Zibiah's shoulder. She hopes the girl understood her gesture.

"I heard, " said Arby, "that you, miss Zibiah, have been watching the boys walking pass from the Academy fence. You should know that's not allowed."

Zibiah blinked, she looked pleadingly up at Natasha, shaking her head.

"I haven't Ms. Arby. "

"The Lord does not stand for liars, miss Zibiah."

Natasha gave Arby a polite smile.

"Perhaps one of your students made a mistake. You are accusing Ms. Pittman's child of a very serious offense, Arby." said Natasha, leaning close to the older woman and whispering, "I'll tell them you've been hoarding rations."

It would be lying to herself, if she didn't feel a spike of vicious amusement at the scowl on Arby's face. The Marthas had their own Confessional day too, and everyone knew why Arby was substituting for the regular teacher today.

"I'll remember this Natalia." Arby snapped back.

"Blessed day." said Natasha, sweetly. "Do you have your things, Zibiah? We should leave."

She took Zibiah's hesitant nod as a yes, and taking the girl's hand they made their way out of the courtyard and towards the Academy gates. Zibiah was pulling at her hand, and Natasha could almost see the question that the girl was dying to ask her.

"Later." she whispered, as she flashed her pass towards the Guardians.

The gate was opened, and she turned Zibiah towards a different street corner, away from Loaves and Fishes. As they passed a closed toy shop front, Natasha steered Zibiah towards the window and stood behind her, blocking both their reflections.

"What did you want to ask me?" she said, quietly.

"What were you and Ms. Arby talking about?" said Zibiah, tracing the outline of a doll behind the glass with a finger. "And you were sad this morning, weren't you? We didn't go back the same way, did we? Did something happen?", she asked in a rush.

_This girl is too curious for her own good_, thought Natasha.

"I was telling her not to tell lies." said Natasha, getting a rare giggle from Zibiah, "And yes, something did happen. That's why we're going a different way back."

"Did they par-ti-cate someone?" whispered Zibiah, "The older girls, they said that."

Zibiah's eyes were wide in the reflection of the glass, and Natasha shook her head.

"No they didn't." she said, "They punished someone. And no," she said, anticipating another question, "I don't know why."

"Is Ms. Arby going to be mad at you now?"

"We'll see." said Natasha.

"I don't want you to-"

"No loitering!"

They both jumped at the command from the Guardian. _I should've paid attention_.

"Blessed day." said Natasha, "We were only looking."

The Guardian did not move his hand away from the gun hoisted at his belt, and the masks issued to Guardians made it even more difficult to guess their moods. _Placating it is then, bow your head, smile. _

"I apologize. I really must bring Mrs. Pittman's daughter back home. Please excuse us."

She kept her head bowed, demure, and hoped that he didn't want to escalate the situation. The Guardian leaned close to her head, and for a wild second, Natasha thought he was going to spit at her.

"Mrs. Pierce wants roses."

She blinked stupidly at him for a second, and nodded tersely.  
  


"Under His eye." she said.

"Under His eye." he repeated, and she thinks he smiled, addressed Zibiah with a customary, "Blessed day, Zibiah."

He gave them a quick salute before walking back to his post, leaving Natasha's head swirling with thoughts.

_There's Guardians involved now? What is Mrs. Pierce up to? How did he know Zibiah's name? Did this have anything to do with the dead girl at Fish and Loaves._

The walk they took home was at a much brisker pace, Zibiah seemed to sense her nervous energy, and tugged on her hand.

"Are you worried you'll get in trouble? You won't, I promised."

"What?" said Natasha, distracted, but stopping to lean towards the girl.

"I know him." whispered Zibiah to her, "From before, I know him. He showed me this scar he had on his arm." Zibiah gulped visibly, "I thought he died."

Zibiah mistook her silence for fear, and continued,

"Don't worry, he didn't greet me because he wanted to tell on you at the Confessional."

"Are you sure about the scar, Zibiah?" said Natasha.

"Honest." said Zibiah, "I'm not lying. I saw it happen. He's my-" the girl hesitated, and said in even more hushed voice, "real uncle."

_What a coincidence. _

"Don't tell your mother." Natasha found herself saying, before she could help herself.

Zibiah blinked at her, then laughed. Natasha found herself smiling too, but she was quick to drop it as she left Zibiah in the drawing room with Mrs. Pittman. She found herself mulling over the Guardian's words as she robotically went through her work.

_Mrs. Pierce wants roses. For what?_

All she knew of the woman was brief glimpses of her from behind her blue veil as she walks stiffly pass the Marthas every morning, accompanied by two Guardians. Well, it used to be two, now there was only one Guardian that walked with her. She thinks it's a sign that Gilead must be running short of soldiers, but she wonders if Mrs. Pierce has somehow persuaded Pierce to let her go with only one.

_Mrs. Pierce wants roses. _

She knows that every wife has a garden, or at least, some form of domestic hobby. Roses grew plenty in Mrs. Pierce's garden, so she was told by the other gossiping Marthas. Why would a Wife want more of them?

_Well that was dumb, Natasha. _

Obviously Mrs. Pierce didn't want actual roses. She didn't know what the roses meant now though, a helper? An ear?

_I need to ask Emilia. _

The clocked seemed to perpetually stuck at six o'clock until she finally breathed a sign of relief when Mrs. Pittman waved her away at ten. It was already dark in the streets when she stepped outside the house, and the few lamps that were lit, by hand, didn't give much light.

She kept her head down, and walked briskly towards the converted apartment building, now dormitories for Marthas. The apartment had three floors, and each floor had its own dormitory. The ones living on the highest floor were the default Aunts in the district. Natasha had started on the first floor, and now she was living on the second. There used to be a sign outside on the wall, Natasha thinks it used to say Sunnyfield, but the letters had been removed one by one, and the shadows painted over in white. She scanned her ID card on the door to open it. There was an odd silence as she walked up the stairs, and when she stepped into the room, all eyes were on her.

"Close the door!" hissed Miriam, "Quickly!"

The nine other Marthas on her floor were sitting on one bed- Emilia's bed, Natasha realized. They were looking at the single rose petal lying on the bed cover, and Natasha suddenly had a sickening feeling in her stomach.

"You're late." said Esther, "Mrs. Pittman keeping you?"

"Stop avoiding the topic Esther." said Kelly, who was wiping at her red eyes. She wiped her running nose with the corner of her sleeve.

"What's wrong?" said Natasha.

"There's going to be a new assignment." said Amy, looking like she swallowed a lemon, "To Pierce's house."

_Mrs. Pierce wants roses. Oh no._

"Why?" said Natasha, stupidly, feeling a cold dread running down her spine.

"I know you two were friends." said Lu, hesitantly reaching out and patting Natasha's shoulder awkwardly, "Emilia's gone, Natalia."

"We didn't know until we got back." said Amy, "And well."

Here everyone looked at her guiltily.

"No one wants to take the posting at Pierce's house." said Katherine, shaking her head. "And well, we thought, we'd just give it to the person who came in last today. I mean- we can draw lots again but-"

"Who's going to take care of Zibiah?" said Natasha.

"You're going to accept it?" said Lauren, incredulously, "Really?"

_Mrs. Pierce needs roses. That must mean something right? _

"I'll take it. If I can see her once a week." said Natasha.

"Maybe once every two weeks. I can tell Joy what you'd like to say to her." said Lu, "Once a week is too much."

"Who's going to take my posting?" said Natasha.

"Grace from the first floor." said Amanda, speaking for the first time, "She's a nice girl, I know her from wo- before."

"As long as she's safe." said Natasha, reaching out to pick up the rose petal from the bed. "How did this get here?"

"Emilia left it." said Amy, "I think she knew. And well, I've cleaned up some of her things, if you want to-"

"No, it's fine." said Natasha, the hollow feeling in her stomach growing. Emilia had only given her an extra apple this morning, and only a couple of hours later, she was gone. She thinks she feels tears gathering in her eyes.

"I can bring you dinner." offered Katherine, "If you want to stay here-"

The nine Marthas hovered awkwardly around her, like green sparrows. She's never cried in front of them before, though everyone around here had cried at least once.

"No." said Natasha, taking a deep breath, and willing herself to calm down. "Let's go to dinner."

_Mrs. Pierce needs roses after all._


	4. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a man meets an immovable obstacle between him and his family.

_Jo and I went on the run_

_Don’t care about religion_

_I’m going to marry the soldier I love_

_Right on the Quebec borders_

_Their name was Jo Chekhova_

_And I’m simply Nicholas_

_We promised each other that we’d be true_

_Right on the Quebec borders_

_\- Rebel song circa 2050s_

_So this is what a meeting in Hell must look like. We're only missing the fourth horseman. _

The three American representatives sitting in front of him all had that air of professional disinterest that he'd previously given to freelancers pitching their ideas before. To have the same look directed at him was, to put it lightly disconcerting, considering that this was not a matter of giving out some grants, or a summer internship but his family's life! Tony clenched his fist underneath his table and clenched his jaw.

_What do they do all day? Sit there for decoration? Decoratively sitting? _

They've introduced themselves to him with polite handshakes as he entered the room- Mayfield, Godly, and Tower, and Tony could see the shiny new rank insignias on their lapel jackets from where he was sitting. All recent promotions, it would seem like. So he wasn't even meeting anyone important, and thirty minutes into the meeting, it was the same placating tone repeated to him.

“We’ve heard your arguments in the matter of rescuing your daughter and wife, Mr. Stark, but we’re sorry to say that the answer is still no."

“You’re going to sit there and twiddle your thumbs while countless people die? My family is in Gilead! You know what happens to women in Gilead."

“We live with the consequences of our decisions Mr. Stark.” said Tower, “You are not the only American citizen with love ones still in Gilead."

“But you have weapons! What’s the point of having weapons if you don’t use them?"

“We’re in a prolonged siege Mr. Stark, if you haven’t noticed. Our resources are few, and I don't suppose you know that Alaska and Hawaii are known for their agricultural output? Until we can clean up the damage from the oil field bombings, we have nothing to trade with. There's enough problems on our plate- excuse the pun, at the moment." answered Tower, sounding pleased with himself, like he'd rehearsed it in the bathroom mirror while tying that ugly tie around his neck.

_Someone should strangle him with it. _

Tony glanced at the American flag in the corner, with its lonely two stars.

_What does that flag even stand for now? _

“You’re telling me that you would abandon the Chicago fighters? The ones in Montana too?” said Tony, incredulous.

“The activities of Iron Front members aren’t our business.” said Mayfield, “Their actions do not reflect the intentions of the government of the U.S.A."

“Fighting religious terrorists isn’t good enough?” Tony snapped back.

“The U.S.A. does not endorse terrorism.” said Tower, “We of course seek to bring down Gilead, and the traitors within it, but we must come in at the right moment. Currently there are too many variables at play."

“So you’re doing jack all."

“Mr. Stark, we’ve been more than generous at giving you an audience. We've just informed you that there are too many variables at play. Our intelligence on the various groups fighting in Gilead is _limited_. It is our policy now to wait for more news. We are glad for your financial contribution, limited though it might be. But we cannot help you." said Mayfield.

“You've wasted my time." said Tony. "And strung me along for nothing."

"You are safe in Alaska, Mr. Stark. Is that not good-" said Mayfield.

"Mayfield." snapped Godley suddenly. She had been silent the entire conversation, and Mayfield paused to blink in shock at her. "Listen, Mr. Stark, look at this from our perspective. You've proven to us that you are Tony Stark, and given us financial aid. However, you wouldn't be the first wealthy individual to hand us money and run back to Gilead with stolen information. We've been, if I can say _strung along _quite a bit too." she sighed deeply. "I apologize for wasting your time, truly, but there is nothing we can do for you."

"Thank you for your time too." said Tony, gritting his teeth.

He stood up and left wordlessly.

_They can shove their apologies up their ass. _

Tony stormed out of the building, and stalked towards the ironically named Independence Bar. The bartender, a balding man dressed in his usual faded grey sweater, looked faintly amused at Tony's arrival.

"They turned you away too?"

He takes Tony's grunt as an acknowledgement, and patted his hand sympathetically.

"You're not the first guy. Have a shot on the house."

It turned into more than one shot, and Tony was drinking his fourth shitty vodka mix- he doesn't even want to know what the bartender's added, when Godley, of all people shows up.

"Isn't it a bit early to get drunk." said Godly, mildly, sitting down next to him.

"Brings me back to the college days." said Tony, "I'm used to it."

He thinks the alcohol's made him feel more relaxed, and grips the drink in his hand harder.

Godley looks around the bar and lowers her voice as she leans towards him.

"Do you want to help your wife and child yourself?"

"Really?" said Tony, "You think I haven't tried that?"

"There's a group that helps smuggle people out of Gilead." said Godly, "Not affiliated with the U.S., and definitely not official." at Tony's incredulous look, she added "They got my wife and son out of Fort Stewart."

"I thought the US military evacuated all their personnel and families out, Godly." said Tony, "Wouldn't your family been on the lists?"

"They favor conventional families first." said Godly, sounding angry for the first time since he met her. "And they weren't living in the base."

She paused, and gave him a speculative look.

"Do you want to contact them?"

"Where's the proof that your family's out?" said Tony.

"Fair enough." said Godly. She reached into her coat pocket and bought out an army issued phone. "Here-" she tapped in the passcode and handed Tony the phone.

He could see dozens of pictures of a smiling boy and curly haired woman as he robotically strolled through Godly's life. Ordinary family outings from before, and as he got closer to the present time, pictures of the family in Alaska. There was no mistaking the military issued house and surroundings. He handed back the phone quickly, feeling like an intruder.

"Point taken." he said.

"Look, I wish I could help." said Godly, "And I'm not making excuses for upper management, I mean, they even promoted me as some sort of twisted apology for forgetting my family existed, but I have to deal with the cards I have. You should too."

Godly puts the phone back into her pocket and pulls out a piece of paper.

"Here's the address for the place." said Godly, "Ask for Rasputin when you get there."

"Rasputin?"

"Don't ask me why." said Godly, looking chagrined, "Good luck, Mr. Stark." she said, getting up from her seat.

"Tony." he corrected her, offering his hand.

_Well, it's not like I haven't been sent around in circles for before. _

"Belinda." said Belinda, giving his hand a firm shake. "Good bye Tony."

_Well fuck me sideways. _Tony thought, looking at the address on the card when he was sure Belinda had left.

_She's recommending I go to the Russian Embassy? _


	5. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony meets the elusive Rasputin, has coffee and an update on Russian affairs.

_I was nineteen when I fled my town_

_They say they come with Love_

_They were burning babies, burning flags_

_The hawks against the doves_

_I took a job at Alberta down on Brighton lane, _

_And there I met a red clad girl, my sweet and lovely Jane. _

_\- unknown singer, circa 2050s_

The Russian embassy was unsurprisingly not difficult to find, even when sharing floors with another embassy. Tony thinks that the Russian flag might be hanging a inch or so higher than the new American one, probably in a show of dick waving. It's not like they were particularly fond of the Americans at the moment, or at all in the last four years.

He didn't want to dwell too deeply on his past mistakes. He knows he's been selfish and arrogant in thinking that the rising tide of religious fanaticism was another phase in American history. The constant gnawing voice inside of him reared its ugly head and whispered snidely, _you should've done something when they started taking down your Russian and Chinese business rivals. _But his competitive nature had gotten the better of him, back then, he thought that was an opportunity.

"Passport?" asked the guard at the desk, putting down his book as Tony stepped forward. There hadn't been much of a line. Russian Americans didn't really made use of this particular embassy.

"I, uh, I'm here to see Rasputin?"

"другой". muttered the guard irritably, holding up his hand, "Wait please."

He dials the phone in front of his desk, tapping his hand impatiently at the delay on the other end. 

"Ahoj, Распутин posěčenje." there was a pause, "Ime? Tony Stark."

_That wasn't Russian. _

"Go through door." said the guard. He opened the book again and waved Tony through, one hand idly combing back his hair. It was another office, unsurprisingly, but this one had a set of couches in the corner. That was all he could take in before his hand was taken in an enthusiastic handshake by a bearded man.

"Good morning, good morning! You must be Mr. Stark." boomed the ambassador. "Stepan, turn up the music, if you please!", this was shouted the closed door to Stepan, and a couple of seconds later there was some old Russian march playing.

The ambassador rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Forgive Stepan, his music choices are... strange? Is this the word?", he smiled broadly at Tony, "Sit, sit!" the ambassador gestured to the couches in the corner. "You are guest now. Tea? Coffee?"

"Coffee." said Tony, hesitantly, taking a seat on the couch nearest to the door. It definitely had seen better days, Tony could feel a rogue spring digging into his back. 

"Of course, of course!" said the ambassador, taking a thermos from his desk and pulling out cups from his desk drawer. He bought them to the couches, sitting opposite to Tony, began pouring out the coffee.

"Thanks." he muttered automatically.

"Well?" asked the ambassador, expectantly, his tone suddenly significantly less jubilant, a serious not in his voice. Maybe it was just him, but Tony thinks the sound of the Russian march had gone significantly louder in the corridor outside. "You are here to see Rasputin. I am him. What is it you want?"

Tony choked back a laugh and failed. "You don't look like a Rasputin." He thinks he can remember bits and pieces of Russian history, but a well groomed man in a Russian uniform certainly does not correspond to the image of Rasputin the priest.

"I picked best name out of Russian history book." laughed Rasputin, "When I was assigned here."

_Somehow I doubt that. _

"You are wanting to rescue family members, Mr. Stark?" said Rasputin, "Like many others coming before you? Or something else? "

"Yes." said Tony, throwing caution to the wind, "My wife and child."

Rasputin paused. "May I ask, if your wife is Russian?" said Rasputin. "Or does she have ties- family, grandparents, great-grandparents, and such things, to Russia?"

"No." said Tony, "She's completely American, why do you ask?"

"Before Gilead, many Russians fled America, even Russian-Americans" said Rasputin, "Those that stayed, believing in America, well..." he tapped his hand on the table, "A shame, big shame. If she was, or had any ties, I think appeal to Russian government would be possible."

"The Russian government's rescuing people and the Americans aren't?" said Tony, incredulous.

"Americans think different." answered Rasputin, "Perhaps you disagree?"

"Of course I do!" snapped Tony, "Why else would I come here? It's not like you lot were my first choice."

"Our reputation has not been nice." agreed Rasputin, "No appeal possible to government in your case. However." he gave Tony a cunning look, "Perhaps you want another option?" 

_It sounds like he wants me to join a cult. No wonder he chose Rasputin._

"It's not joining your spy service is it?" said Tony, "I don't want to work for the Russian government."

"Of course no." said Rasputin, "You are too American. You would not pass even the basics." he said, picking up his coffee cup and taking a sip, "I'm talking about third party."

The quick change of topic was probably meant to gloss over the insult, but Tony was interested. 

"Oh. You mean, like the rebel groups in America?"

"ничёсе! Not likely! The groups you say... well, they are messy. No way to contact them, no leader..." Rasputin shook his head, "No, I suggest real group."

"You want me to trust you that they're real?", said Tony, skeptically.

"You want your family back, yes?" said Rasputin, "Then trust me, they are real. Of course, you will meet one of them before, what is the word- committing. There is no hopping on plane right after leaving this office."

"Wait, what plane?"

"The group is in Russia." said Rasputin, "Somewhere in Siberia, I would mention, they keep it secret. I will ask them for a meeting with you. Come back next Thursday, they should send their representative then."

"Can I ask who exactly they are? You just said I'm not working for the Russian government, but now you're saying this group is in Russia?"

Rasputin raised an eyebrow. "How much drinking did you do of this anti-Russian feeling before?", said Rasputin, "I would like you to know, we were the first nation offering refugee status to your scientists and their families." he paused, scowling, "Though not many took the offer- you see where they ended."

"I had other things on my mind." said Tony, defensively, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

_Didn't Danvers tell me that she was leaving to Russia? Did Banner?  
_

He look uncomfortable away from Rasputin, his eyes falling on the framed pictures on the wall. It was groups of young schoolchildren at the colorful Saint Basil's Cathedral, and the date underneath them was very recent. Last year, last month if Tony's eyes were not mistaken. More children than Tony's ever seen running around Alaska.

"Are those recent pictures?" he blurted out. 

"Yes." said Rasputin, seeing the disbelief on Tony's face, he added, "There is better things to do than fake pictures of happy children. It has added bonus of, is this the word I hear around this place- dick waving."

"Didn't the sterility hit everyone?" said Tony, "They said some virus was released from where the permafrost melted, and that's were it all comes from. Wouldn't your country have been hit the hardest? What with the Siberian permafrost?

"Russia still has biggest IVF doctors and clinics, before this happened." said Rasputin, gesturing broadly around the room. "Until now, I will say, we have no shortage of sperm storage. I am not proper biologist, but I think that is main problem, yes?"

"I don't believe you." said Tony, "You're saying you all just used stored sperm from thirty something years ago and it still worked? There's enough for everyone? People agreed to this? Your Orthodox church agreed?"

"They say they milk chickens." said Rasputin, "You seem to believe everything said about Russia. Our priests are not illiterate, they understand population charts." Rasputin drank the rest of his coffee. "I suppose they have old fashioned looks about things, but they all agree, if a child touches foot in Russia, they are Russian. It is nice, Moscow sends me pictures every so and so. Your mail checkers are very upset when I pick them up."

_I can imagine you were the one who hung the flags outside the office. _

He gave Tony a speculative look again. 

"You agree? Or did I waste my coffee?"

Tony glanced at his now cold coffee cup, picking it up by the handle, he gave Rasputin a half toast before downing it.

"I will tell them you agreed.", said Rasputin, "Please come Thursday. I assume you are not so stupid as to tell people what we discussed?"

"Of course not.", said Tony.

_Passive aggressive bastard._

"Good day then." said Rasputin. 

Tony stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. Stepan gave him an unimpressive look, and changed the marching song playing. 

"RA RA RASPUTIN, lover of the Russian queen, there was a cat that really was gone, RA RA RASPUTIN, Russia's greatest love machine, it was a shame how he carried on-", screeched the player. 

"Good meeting?", asked Stepan, at the sudden smile on Tony's face. 

"I think so." said Tony, walking away. 


	6. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve has breakfast with friends Dum Dum, Gabe and Jo (formerly Joseph Pierce).

  
_Here comes the future and you can't run from it_

_Are you waiting for the great leap forwards?_

_If no one out there understands_

_Start your own revolution and oust the middleman_

_Join the struggle while you may_

_The revolution is just one post away_

_Join us in this great leap forward_

\- revised protest song, origins 1988

"Can you not use that as your alarm? Use a damn ringtone, like the rest of us."

Steve could hear the bickering from the top of his bunk in the dormitory. He glanced at the watch on his electronic bracelet. It wasn't even six in the morning yet, and Gabe and Dum Dum were already up and at each others' throats. He thinks it's because Dum Dum's a morning person with questionable music tastes while Gabe would prefer to sleep until noon.

"Does it offend your sensibilities?" said Dum Dum, "Every one loves a good protest song sure. What do you reckon, Captain America?"

Steve groaned, deeply regretting taking Joseph's sly suggestion of drinking the welcome tea that the scientists had presented him. It was intensely hallucinogenic, as he'd found out, and he wasn't sure how his mind had came up with _Captain America _of all things for him to blurt out. He's now stuck with the nickname until further notice.

"It must be your subconscious inner voice." Joseph had said, laughing at his disgruntled reactions to the nick name.

"You're one to talk." Steve had snapped back, "Everyone calls you Jo, that's sensible!"

"Well, we also have a Hannibal and a Hulk running around here, it's kind of fifty-fifty chance what you say under the influence. I did tell you it was hallucinogenic."

In all honesty, the strange initiation ritual did make some sense. Steve reckons that no American, or Russian official even, would believe a spy report from anyone claiming the knowledge of illicit activities from people called "Hulk", "Professor X" and, "Magneto". The strange little community he found himself in after fleeing the United States were very well known for their strange summer rituals and hallucinogens. Also polar bears, to his utter amazement, tamed polar bears that just amble around, sunbathing.

"They're not exactly tamed." Joseph had explained, when he'd first saw them. "They're friendly to us, I think they recognize the smell of people who've lived here-" seeing Steve's confused look, he added, "It's probably the lab grown meat, or the cloth fibers. The lab guys says they think there's a smell we have. But you shouldn't come close to them anyway, no one really gets them. Except for Hulk, he does the hibernation studies, and they seem to like him well enough."

"Aren't they like tigers? I thought they're not very social." Steve had said, "Right?"

"They were hit hard by climate change." Joseph had replied, "Those that survived adapted. They're definitely not wolves, you won't see a bear pack any time soon - can you imagine the blood and carnage? I think the ones hanging around are females or cubs though, all the males tend to wander off around the mountains here."

"No comment." he said, shaking his head, "It's too early to talk about your music tastes Dum Dum."

"You wound me!" said Dum Dum, dramatically clutching at his heart.

Gabe rolled his eyes.

"We should get a move on, that plane won't build itself." said Gabe, pulling on his boots from his bunk underneath Dum Dum.

"Wait, I thought we hit a road block." said Dum Dum, "Wasn't Magneto going on and on about how the carburetor wouldn't work? Something about engine fuel or missing parts-"

"Yeah, I think so, but we may find someone-"

Steve let their chatter run in the background as he got up and dressed. From what he could understand, the scientist-engineer team of the village had been working on that plane design for the last three years. It seemed like Magneto, the German engineer in charge of the build was a perfectionist. First it was the problem of the frame, initially tossed because the feasibility of finding the raw materials, then it was scrapped because it would use too much wood, and on and on. He'd been told that the design was now in limbo at the machinery and the fuel to be used.

"We're gonna be stuck there forever." Hank had muttered to him, when he'd snuck in to check in on the work, "I _know_ Magneto sucks at chemistry."

The young teenager had taken a shine to him, and was more than happy to explain the inner workings of the community he'd found himself in. Hank wasn't in the mess hall though, strangely enough when they entered. Instead, Steve found Joseph sitting in Hank's usual seat. He was reading something on the tablet in front of him, distractedly rocking the fussy toddler in his lap.

"Here, I'll get the food, you go distract Jo from whatever apocalyptic headline he's reading." said Gabe.

"Thanks, Gabe." said Steve, walking over to Joseph's table.

"Something came up?" he said, cracking a smile at the suddenly shy toddler, who hid her face in Joseph's shirt, "You usually don't come here this early."

"Who needs sleep?" said Joseph in reply, "Lu-Lu here has been a holy terror. Does God take refunds?"

"You sure Nicholas would appreciate your kid's Lucifer inspired nickname? Here take your coffee, I know you can't function without it." said Dum Dum, handing a hot mug to Steve and sitting down across Steve.

"Nicholas didn't go through eight something hours of labor and you know my thoughts on his name suggestions." Joseph said, "No sleep aside- I think I have a solution to Magneto's three year headache."

"What, you conjured up a magician somewhere?" said Dum Dum, incredulously, "No offense, if you did, but I'm the one listening to the German swearing all day."

"No, but you're close. We got word from Rasputin that a certain Tony Stark contacted him." said Joseph.

"Wait, what?" said Steve, "I thought Gilead got rid of any business owners they didn't like."

Dum Dum offered him some toast and he took it. It was strangely crunchy, one of the teenagers assigned to kitchen duty must've been experimenting with the seeds from the greenhouse.

"Money talks, Rasputin thinks he got away from the initial purge." said Joseph, "But not enough, because his family's still there."

"So, you're wanting him to come here?" guessed Dum Dum, "Him being head honcho of the Stark Industries, and actually knowing stuff."

"I don't see why not." said Joseph, "He's clever, and it's not like he won't be in good company, we've got Stark employees here too."

Steve gave Joseph an incredulous look.

"How many people do you even have here?" he asked.

"Five thousand something." answered Gabe, "Jeez, Jo, do you even sleep? Eat something at the very least man."

Gabe forcibly hands Joseph a roll from the tray in his hands and sat down next to Dum Dum.

"So what'd I miss?" he asked, "I'm assuming, since Captain here asked about population, more refugees?"

"Not really." said Joseph, "We're talking about bringing Tony Stark over."

"Oh, you mean, the inventor guy." said Gabe, "Where'd he coming from?"

"Alaska, but it's probably better to fly him from Canada, less paperwork that way." said Joseph, breaking off the roll one handed and giving a small piece to Lu-Lu who gleefully bit down.

"Can I see what you were reading?" said Dum Dum, gesturing towards the tablet.

"Be my guest." said Joseph, "But Angel translated it from Spanish just this morning so I'm not quite sure if it's word for word. Hopefully it's not, it doesn't look good."

"What's the news then? Mexico?" said Dum Dum, distractedly strolling down the article, his eyes widening "Oh, yes. You're right, it sounds bad."

"What's the news now?" asked Steve, internally steeling himself.

"Hm." said Dum Dum, "Give me a second, right, it's about the refugee crisis on the Mexican-Gilead border. They're going through elections right now in the border towns and, this guy, he really doesn't like Americans coming, wait let me figure out what they quoted him saying-" Dum Dum paused, then started reading, "I don't believe these people are in danger, this man, I saw, he was screaming about how he was in danger, his family was in danger, well, I don't believe him! It's a big con! What, he can't support his family? Well, he's got two hands doesn't he! I say, we worry about our own citizens! What about our own mothers and sisters- we should be concerned about terrorist infiltration-" Dum Dum paused, "You sure you want more it goes on for quite awhile."

Steve swallowed."That's good thanks." said Steve. "Sounds bad then. Does it look like Mexico's rejecting refugees?"

"They're going through a crisis themselves." said Gabe, "I mean, what with the dissolving of drug cartels and new governments, this is like another match in the bonfire. That's some strong implications he's got at the end though."

"Well the other party's more welcoming," said Joseph, "and they're polling nicely, so we can hope."

"That hadn't been seen in awhile." said Dum Dum, "But back to the Stark guy, what were you saying? You're going to squirrel him out here?"

"Something like that." said Joseph, "Actually, that's why I wanted to catch you Captain, I wanted to ask if you're willing to fly Hank out to Canada for the initial meeting with Tony."

"Hank?" asked Gabe, "Really?"

"The kid's smart." said Dum Dum "I think it'll be a great experience. It'll keep him from butting heads with the chemistry gurus we have running around for a bit. Captain?"

"I don't mind." said Steve, "Is that why Hank's not here this morning? Busy packing?"

"You two aren't leaving now." said Joseph, "Tomorrow more likely, according to the forecast, weather should be good for flying. Hank's just over prepared. He's really interested in seeing what Stark makes of the plane designs they have."

They fell into friendly silence, with only the sounds of clinking cutlery, and faint whistling from the kitchen.

"Well if that's all, I'm heading off, see you around Captain." said Dum Dum, pushing back his chair.

"I'm going too," said Gabe, "You really should get some sleep, Jo."

They watched the two men leave the mess hall before Steve turned to Joseph. He hesitated, and then said,

"About that message earlier, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come off as rude."

"Don't worry about it." said Joseph, "You were angry, it happens. I mean I would be mad as hell too."

"Doesn't excuse what I said." said Steve, "It's not a fair comparison."

"Everyone tolerated me lashing out when I first came here." said Joseph, "It's going to be hypocrisy to be mad at you, all things considered. Your mother's playing Scheherazade, of course you'll be mad."

"I'll have objected to that comparison before but now that you mention it, yes, it does seem fair."

"What, my father is a king that gets off on beheading people every night? Nah, I think Allerleirauh might appeal to him more." Joseph said flippantly, then at Steve's confused look, he added, "It's a Grimm story about a king that wanted to marry his own daughter."

Steve hesitated, then said, "That's dark Joseph."

It was something of an open secret when he was in the military that Joseph didn't leave on his own terms. There had been rumors of course but any attempt to contact Joseph after the abrupt resignation was a failure. Joseph himself had been tight lipped about it even now, not that Steve had asked, or wanted to think about it. Pierce had always carried himself with that self assurance of someone who knew what he was doing, and what he was doing was right, which few questioned. But looking back the strange possessiveness the man had shown to Joseph could not be written off as simply fatherly concern.

"We, well me and our local psych, both think Pierce's got a few screws loose. Either the car bomb that killed my mother made some severe damage to his frontal cortex or he's always like this and I never knew, and well, I don't think his association with Zola helped either." Joseph paused, taking a deep breath, one of his hands running through Lu-Lu's hair. "The only thing I'm sure about him is that he really wanted a dynasty, and the weird IVF thing he allowed Zola to do to have me was fuc-"

"Language!" Steve interrupted, before he could help himself, "Sorry, I didn't mean- well, your kid-"

"Well extremely unethical also describes it." said Joseph, waving off his apology with a fond smile, "In any case, I don't think he would harm your mother, I remembered you said she had her tubes tied after you? I'm concerned for whoever else he's got in that madhouse of his." Joseph stared at him blue eyes glinting, and continued, "I know you personally want to rescue your mother, and I applaud you for it, I just want you to promise me, if you see that he's got someone in my situation, you would get them out too."

Steve swallowed, "You think Zola's done this IVF thing on more than one person- I mean for more than one couple?"

"Desperation, money and no ethics lets you do anything. I think I may have told you before, but I did take a copy of Zola's experimental records with me when I left." Joseph frowned, "It's a pretty extensive list. Pretty long, pretty detailed, if the people involved had any sense they'd already left before everything went side ways."

"But you don't think they did." said Steve, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"I mean, you're going to fetch one of them soon, aren't you?" said Joseph, "The couples who had access to Zola had money to spare, they most likely didn't think they'd be on the chopping block. Of course, they won't be the ones suffering. Gilead isn't a big fan of anything outside the binary."

Steve hesitated, and said, "You know I'm on board with your plan, and even, well, even if it doesn't work-"

"Shh! Don't jinx it. Remember when you were certain you'd crash that simulation and you managed to pull it out of a nosedive?"

They shared a laugh, and Steve said, "Wasn't it over the Arctic ocean, when I managed to get the controllers to work?"

"I think so." said Joseph. "Remember how the guys were saying you looked frozen stiff?"

"I thought I'll get disqualified!" said Steve, remembering the andrenaline of that moment. Strange that it was only five years ago.

"Speaking of flying, you really should be well rested, it's an early flight tomorrow, if all goes well." said Joseph.

"Don't worry about it." said Steve, "I bet Hank would be knocking on the door at dawn."

"Well if you're sure- oh, what now-" he eyed his beeping wristband, frowning at the electronic message that flashed across its face, "Sorry, got a message about another meeting, they said they want me to be there."

"Gilead related then?" said Steve.

"The very same." said Joseph. "Come on Lu-Lu, let's see what grand advice I can give on a bunch of nutters. I'll see you later, Steve."

"I change my mind." said Steve, "You really must be tired if you pass off a chance to call me Captain America."

"See you later then, Captain America." said Joseph, sticking out his tongue, "I hope Hank talks both your ears off tomorrow."

He hoisted the toddler on his hip and walked out, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts.

_Never thought I'd be flying off to Alaska. Well, it's not as if the world is full of surprises. _


	7. Sorokino Symposium, Day 1: Part 1

Symposium on the 57 Years' War in the Former Republic of Gilead

University of Sorokino

Sorokino, Pan-Slavic Federation

September 21, 2215

Panel: Introduction and Historical background Part 1

9:00 to 14:00 UTC +8

Session chair: Aleksandr Sorokin - History department head at the University of Sorokino

Presenters :

Nathaniel Floyd - University of Nottingham

Serafina Belova - Saint Petersburg State University

Deni Blanchet - University of Nantes

ALEKSANDR SOROKIN:

Good morning, everyone, I hope that you have enjoyed our excursion around Sorokino. I believe our university had booked a decent airship for our fascinating symposium. I do recall a rather disastrous flight when I was in my twenties- ah how technology has improved since then!

(Laughter)

My name is Aleksandr Sorokin, and I am the Head of our humble history department. I will be the session chair, for today. What exactly are we discussing today, you may ask? Well, I do believe you have all read the headlines, of this _capsule _that was recently discovered. We are still waiting for disclosure of its contents, mysterious as it may be- we only know it concerns a cooperative attempt lead by the Russian Federation and allies to rescue people in Gilead. The Heads here at Sorokino University thought it might be worth our while to throw in our contribution and speculations to its contents, as Sorokino was originally built to house refugees and grew into the city you see today.

I would also like to mention, this is not a purely academic talk - I will also warmly welcome members of the media- they are sitting behind you, to broadcast our meeting to interested parties. If you do not want to be filmed, please talk to my colleague at the front desk- she will give you the relevant paper work.

Also mentioning media- thanks to some suggestions by my students, Sorokino University has also connected this symposium to the Netizen, where it can be accessed by international audience. This would be translated live, by our dedicated interns. Members of the public are more than welcome to submit questions, we will review them and answer a selection tomorrow.

So, back to the symposium, why here? Why is the symposium on Gilead, which existed in the Americas, held in our Sorokino? Let us start at the beginning. The Republic of Gilead as it was known, did not, as some thought, sprung into existence. The United States of America, as it was known before, was in a, shall we say, transitional stage, a very delicate balance of revolution and change. We all should know of this, from my extensive lectures on the former Russian Federation.

(Laughter from student audience)

While the fall of the United States and the rise of Gilead may be worth an entire months' lecture, time constraints are on us and I will summarize it briefly as a successful military coup conducted by existing extremist sectors in the former United States. It would have happened less successfully had it not been for the sudden existence of mutated strain of the AAV-4 virus- the sterility virus and its ramifications will discussed more by Doctor Nathaniel Floyd- apologies for spoiling your introduction.

(Laughter)

Yes, so as I mentioned during this time there were many refugees coming to the Russian Federation. Gilead, in its initial inception, were willing to allow for sterile, or what they define as, undesirable elements of society to preemptively remove themselves. This proved to be difficult, as the Gileadeans did not made passports or travel documents easy to obtain, and anyone caught using fake documents were detained. However those that could were able to flee to the Russian Federation, though its shifting policies- first only accepting educated persons and their families, then parents and child with Russian heritage, then single mothers, and finally all persecuted minorities did not make this easy- established for themselves their own American-Russian identities and communities where they settled.

They did not expect to settle here long, I think, the thought of the time was that it would only last a decade, fifteen years at the most. Their comparison many of us believe, was that of the Greater German Reich, which lasted twelve years. The difference, I may say, is that Gilead did not wage war upon its Canadian and Mexican neighbors in its infancy and foreign powers propped up its initial struggling economy, and again the heads of respective states were more concerned about the fallout of the AVV-4 virus than a falling superpower, unfortunate it may be to the people living there.

So these refugees, they stayed where they came and their children adopted the customs of their new homeland. As the Russian Federation began to expand its territories and turned an eye to the United States and Republic of Gilead, these children were asked to make a decision- to claim their American identities, or their adopted one. This was a difficult choice for many, and while some reclaimed their American passports, the majority remained Russian. A clever move, I should say, from the Russian government earlier- who pushed for integration of every refugee into the Russian culture. This, resulted, predictably in strained ties between the United States and the Russian Federation- it did not help that the Russian Federation at the time supported and propped up the Great Sioux Nations' legitimacy on the world stage.

I believe many of us can agree that the experience of American-Russian refugees are not spoken about in historic texts to this day- I do recall the very American centric speculations discussed in the Twelfth Symposium on Gileadean Studies. This symposium will focus on what we believe has been grossly glossed over by the historians on the other side of the Pacific Ocean, and I hope, will give voice to those refugees.

Please, may I welcome the three speakers for today. The first, you may already know is the distinguished Doctor Nathaniel Floyd, from the University of Nottingham, who will be discussing the AVV-4 virus and its impact. Next is Doctor Serafina Belova, our very own alumni - welcome back- who is a great resource on the history of Russian Federation. Finally, Professor Deni Blanchet, from the University of Nantes- she has done great work in interpreting correspondence and will conclude the day's conference on some brevity on -what is the word - memes of the time.

(Applause)

Please, welcome Professor Nathaniel Floyd!

NATHANIEL FLOYD:

Thank you, Aleksandr, for your introduction. If I may briefly introduce myself, I am a retired physician, and only recently taken up the research on history of the AVV virus. I suppose I am the few with extreme interest in this matter, as I was approached by the Sorokino University to talk on its history- not its mechanism- I believe none of you suffer from insomnia and a lecture on virus structures would not serve any of us well.

(Laughter)

OK, so AVV, is it the virus that shook the world? Let us briefly look at past pandemics and their ramifications on our map here.

I am not sure any of you have heard of Émile Bourreau and his compiled works- a fascinating book, he documented the social unrest and change that happened as a result of the Black Plague sweeping through Europe. He concluded that it resulted in the fall of the monarchy and resulted in a mercantile system being established and what we can tentatively call the start of capitalism. In a different vein, the HIV/AIDS virus could also have said to result in social change- for the better or worst, it is hard to say. Because it is a sexually transmitted disease, and we all know how puritanical the societies of the past and present can be, those unfortunates infected with the virus were marked, a red letter, and persecuted, before the virus moved up to higher social circles and then changes- social, political, economical and such was finally pushed forward.

The AVV-4 virus was like both of these pandemics, but on steroids. No one really knows where it originated. I believe it was first documented in Arctic and other similar indigenous communities- afflicted communities are shown here- a possible source being the melting tundra ice as a result of climate change. However, the politics at the time deemed this to be a lifestyle disease, the sterility of the people affected a result of drug use, unsafe sex practices etc. No funded research was conducted, and the afflicted were left to their own devices. As AAV-4 virus does not kill, those people that were able to reproduce developed a sort of immunity against the virus. It was only a problem when the virus mutated, not needing human hosts, and suddenly affected, like I mentioned earlier, higher social circles.

It is hard to say who exactly reported the first emergency case of the AAV-4 virus, it could either be a holidaying group or possibly a visiting politician but by the time it was clear that this virus would prove to be an issue, it was too late to contain it. The virus spreads by water, incredibly resilient to water treatments used at the time. It thrived in cold climates, and so the Caucasian populations living there proved to be vulnerable. One could say the combat of climate change even helped the spread of AAV-4. It also didn't help that many doctors initially wrote off the virus as the R strain syphilis, which uses a completely different treatment protocol.

Perhaps it is fortunate that the virus did not spread like wildfire right away. The people initially affected could afford IVF, which they were more than willing to use to have children, and governments were also funding the IVF clinics- some more reputable than others- that sprung up in an attempt to help infertile couples. However, no one knew that the virus also affected fetal development. The children born of the resulting IVF treatments were to use the insensitive phrasing of the time 'neither male nor female', if they were not stillborn. Those were not had ambiguous sexual organs upon invasive medical screening, which did not occur until the time that the children reached puberty.

So I would approximate for about thirty or twenty five something years, nothing was done of the AAV-4, because it didn't present with threatening symptoms, and was wrongly attributed to other factors- the unregulated use of new pesticides, for example- or the R strain syphilis I mentioned earlier. Immigration due to climate change helped hide the slow decrease in the work force in the afflicted countries' population, and birth rates had been slowly falling in any case, thanks to improved sexual education programs.

However the complacent attitudes changed, when a inflammatory publication reached headline news. It is something on the level or even exceeding that of the anti-vaccination hysteria caused by the 1998 redacted Lancet publication, except this one had rather extreme racist connotations to it. The paper implied that the virus was manufactured by a Russian-Chinese alliance to destabilize the United States. As Aleksandr mentioned earlier, the United States was undergoing a transitional stage, and this paper stroke the fires of extremist revolution. A fertility plague only seemingly affecting the Caucasian population, again, apologies for the phrasing 'mutant' babies born of the IVF clinics, caused a massive conflagration in the internal machinery of the country. Extremist groups recruited on a massive scale, the government was overthrown and the Gilead Republic arose from the ashes. 

Of course not all countries reacted with fire and brimstone to AAV-4. The European Union immediately set to work trying to find a cure- pictured here is the initial scientific team that spearheaded the project. Unfortunately, the first possible vaccine to the virus was developed and tested- yes- tested, no government lowered the prerequisites on human trials - too late to help the United States. By then the established Gilead Republic refused foreign medical help, deeming it unnecessary medical intervention, and holding a grudge on international sanctions against it.

Going back to the question I posed earlier, I would say that yes, the AAV-4 virus indeed shook the world. From the perspective of the Americas, it certainly lead to some interesting times. South American countries, free of United States' influence set out on their own political course for the first time in generations. We have the formation of the current Great Sioux, Navajo, and Cherokee Nations, the Republic of Texas, the formation of new Mexican territories all of which grew from the fall of the Gilead Republic. In terms of gender and sexual equality, certainly, attitudes changed- which carried over to the European Union and the Pan-Slavic Federation to this day- as the pendulum of public opinion shifted on what exactly defined masculinity and femininity. From the perspective of other countries or continents, I cannot in good faith say.

I think it is time then to turn the stand to Professor Belova for her presentation on the Russian Federation response to the AAV-4 virus.

(Applause)


	8. Sorokino Symposium, Day 1: Part 2

SERAFINA BELOVA:

Thank you, Nathaniel, for your presentation. I have to admit I have never thought of the connection between the AVV-4 virus and the Black Plague. Fascinating book that you've recommended us.

Some of you may already know me, it hadn't been long since I left these distinguished halls to Saint Petersburg University.

(Laughter)

For those who are unfamiliar, I graduated five years ago from Sorokino University with a Doctorate in history, specifically the history of Sorokino during the AVV-4 pandemic and the social ramifications. I rather thought this was a niche topic- important to only the few living in Sorokino, and to be honest, it's not made for interesting dinner conversations. Imagine my surprise when I received the invitation for a conference at my alumni school, specifically on my research! It definitely cut my holiday to Kiev short!

(Laughter)

Enough about me, let's start with the reason why I'm here, the Russian Federation during the AVV-4 pandemic- please, turn your attention to the map on the display. What did Sorokino look like during this time?

You may be surprised to find that it is an underdeveloped logging and mining town- population under one hundred, all temporary workers- some pictures recovered of the town is shown here- and yes- to the younger students in the audience those are machines running on oil. Fascinating, am I right?

It would probably be doomed to obsolesce if not for who settled here during the Climate Crisis of the 2020s. The first were the Christian sect, a possible offshoot of the Russian Orthodox Church lead by the Fédor Osipov. Details on his life are unclear, but it would seem that he left the Russian Orthodox Church due to disagreements with its conservative values. From what is gathered, mainly private correspondence with Fédor and his remaining friends in the church, Fédor disagreed with its alliance to the conservative government at the time, and the persecution of its various minority groups. In addition there was a feeling at the time of impending doom, the end of the world, so to speak, and the many held the feeling that Christ would come to usher the devout to heaven.

It is not clear if Fédor held this belief, but he did what many of the religious did at the time- leave the densely populated cities to a remote location. This is what he did with his family and either friends or followers, it is unclear. They moved to Sorokino, but did not settle in the town itself, they went off into the woods and build houses for themselves there, calling the new community Belovodye, a strange choice of name, I may add as it has pagan origins. It certainly calls into question the religiosity of Fédor.

The next to come to Sorokino were a strange motley of scientists, who held the belief, without religious undertones, that the world will end. I believe they only wished to wait out the end of the world in what they thought to be a calm, desolate town. They stayed longer, because, as you all know, every end world prediction so far has not yet come to pass.

(Laughter)

Also, there was a series of interesting mineral deposits in Sorokino- one which can be used in engines which proved to be irresistible to the engineers among the scientists that came there. They proposed a part of Sorokino's industry be dedicated to making engines. The minerals are gone now, but the legacy of it stays to this day - you must all have passed the historical recreation of an oil run plane when entering this university.

I would like to call back to Nathaniel's presentation earlier, where he mentioned the theory of the AVV-4 origins coming from the melting tundra. I would say that this theory would hold true, as personal letters between Sorokino and Belovodye's inhabitants reveal that there was an increase in birth defects and sterility among the population. By pure coincidence, one of the scientists that came to Sorokino was a specialist in fertility. She initially thought that it was due to the close nature of the Belovodye gene pool, and this lead to some traditions - I will elaborate on this further if there is interest- being established with the scientists and the people living in Belovodye, resulting in them moving into the Belovodye community, with most commuting to Sorokino to work on the engineering projects. Here are some pictures from donated family albums of the time. You can see that the Belovodye people have a distinctly different dress compared to those scientists or Sorokino residents. I see that everyone has noticed the bear near the car- of course- no one cares for cars or trains, the bears are the focus- I'm not surprised- you an see they're positively giants then as compared to now. They are polar bears- though you can see from its mottled brown coloring this one must have interbred with some brown bears- sorry Aleksandr, I digressed- if there are any questions, I will attempt to answer them later.

Back to Sorokino and Belovodye- as you know, the Republic of Gilead was officially founded around 2073, and lasting until 2120, though one can argue on the latter year. The Russian Federation implemented an interesting policy at the time regarding Gilead. A quick background on this- Russia and its neighbor had established IVF facilities- one could even say industry before the AVV-4 was acknowledged to be an issue. The surge in doomsday believers lead to the Russian Orthodox church enjoying the surge in religiosity. Unfortunately, when the news of the sterility plague circulated, they were scrambling to remain relevant to the suddenly atheistic and angry population. Reforms were pushed by progressive priests within it- though compared to today, it would be considered backwards- they proposed that their interpretation of the Bible meant God had ordained there to be two sexes- those that could bear children and those that couldn't. In any case, their reforms resulted in Russia being a little more willing to take in refugees, especially the persecuted children that resulted from the IVF treatments. It should also be noted that the Russian Federation had followed China's example of enacting an Internet- another name for Netizen-firewall which prevented the massive wave of disinformation to reach discontented citizens. This made them, for better or for worst, depending on who you ask at the time, more willing to accept the government's response to the crisis. They passed many reforms during this time that made it possible for refugees to enter Russia, interestingly enough implementing the very reforms that they rejected earlier in the face of refugees fleeing Climate change.

The reformation that I will talk about, one that is the most relevant to Sorokino is the Family Reunification Act- which as you all know, allowed for refugees with Russian ancestry, or a listed persecuted ancestry to obtain asylum in the former Russian Federation, aid to rescue family members in Gilead or transportation to their respective ancestral country.

With regards to Belovodye, I had mentioned earlier their scientific population was an international one, from census papers- mandatory at the time by the Russian Orthodox church, which is how we come to know that the scientists there came from countries such as United States, Germany, France, Australia, China and so on. While it is believed that in the beginning most of them came to Sorokino due to apocalyptic fear, the ones that came after that were drawn to the group's political beliefs and structure - international syndicalist egalitarian community.

This is completely in contrast to Gilead and even the former United States. Because of this, as you can imagined, they had more foresight and concern when the protests and uprisings started in the former United States. I mentioned earlier that the Family Reunification Act was relevant to Sorokino, but the members there were helping people leave the volatile country much earlier- through marriage- a marriage certificate is shown here, note the Russianized last name of the American spouse Jo Chekhova- which is where the interestingly swapped word "American mail order bride" came to the lexicon at the time, as Sorokino was not the only community to do this.

For children and teenagers, it was a more difficult task, as parents universally refuse to leave without their children. From the records, it's been determined that the children who came to Sorokino at the time were from state homes in the United States- children who, if they were boys would have been recruited to be Gilead child soldiers and girls for sexual slavery. Their transport to Sorokino was coordinated by a fascinating network of social workers - you can see their pictures here, and correspondence here. As you can see, on the adoption papers shown a certain E. Lehnsherr has been written as the father for over twenty children. A definite mismatch, as even fathering three children is a statistical abnormality at the time.

I believe I may have bored many of you, certainly the slides are not riveting-

(Laughter)

and the correspondence shown are in the English language of the time, with additional coded language to hide the writers' intentions. I believe a more animated conversation will be held by Deni- specifically on the correspondence of the children and young adults during the time.

Of course, if there are any questions I will be more than happy to answer them tomorrow. Thank you for your attention.

(Applause)

DENI BLANCHET:

Bonjour! Thank you, Aleksandr for the invitation to your lovely Sorokino. I like Serafina did not expect to be here, specifically to talk about this topic. My work is, like hers, quite niche. For those that are unfamiliar, I am a specialist in electronic communications of the 20th century. My presentation will relate to the communications exchanged by the children of Sorokino through the timespan Gilead Republic, though not the fifty seven years- that would be too much!

(Laughter)

It would also be, unfortunately, due to the fact that the citizens Sorokino was relocated by the Russian Federation and the communications system was taken apart, hence the limitations.

As Serafina mentioned, the communications of adults during the time was very bland. Mentions of food and chemicals were used in place of people, and such, to hide the rescue activities. The children, however were more creative in their communications.

How do we know of this? As previously mentioned, Sorokino was relocated and I assume most, if not all information deemed classified were destroyed. However, it was forty something years ago that a laptop- yes those ancient devices- was donated to the University of Nantes' department of historical communications by a relative of a Monsieur Dernier. They claimed, in their description of their donation to the university that while Monsieur Dernier claimed to have been teaching French during his lifetime, recent letters and photos- not donated- uncovered by the relatives - lead them to believe he did more than they thought, and his personal laptop may hold more clues. They hoped that we could recover the files, and give them an update on its contents.

Well, a recovery of the files showed that most of them simply contained names of his students, their education level and grades. Boring, if briefly glanced at, because all of the names were French ones, but if one has knowledge of French culture, it is clear that some of the names cannot be real ones- they all referenced French historical figures and fictional characters, obscuring all identities of the students taught. What was fascinating to us, however were the other contents, the ones that Aleksandr mentioned earlier- memes. It was found in a folder simply titled "EXTRA CREDIT".

As you may know, it is possible to trace and analyze memes from the digital footprint, interesting in the case of the memes found on M. Dernier's laptop, the media used were from the 2020s. It is possible that this was the only media available to the children at the time, thus the narrowed scope. Or it is possible that M. Dernier saved his favorites. In any case we cannot know all the memes that were circulated, as the Sorokino network was disabled when the Russian Federation evacuated it and any data not saved was wiped.

My colleagues and I have categorized them into three - for the sake of brevity- categories- pre Gilead, Gilead and post Gilead based on the date saved by M. Dernier, and also their contents. If there are interest I will show more, but the majority of the memes recovered were from made during the Gilead times. It is possible that M. Dernier left Sorokino when the area was evacuated, hence, the lack of post Gilead material.

Let us start with the first meme. We believe this meme template was called "jealous boyfriend"- oh and- please note- every observation I note from now on in my presentation should are presumptions based on cultural norms at the time- an example would be presumptions of either masculine or feminine depictions, and when I say author, I also mean authors- back to the picture- the man is seen admiring a passing woman while on a date or in a relationship with a woman.

The author of the meme has edited it, replacing the man's head with the Gilead flag and on the woman in red's chest - a rather fascinating choice of placement with regards to future Gilead ambitions and color coding of women- RELIGIOUS FUNDAMENTALISM. While all the words are capitalized, it is the format of the meme, so therefore the author is likely not expressing anger. The woman in the blue shirt has been labeled SCIENCE AND REASON, which presumably is in reference to the reactions to AVV-4 virus. My colleagues and I are in disagreement over how the Sorokino children would have access to the flag image- as governments of the time were still unsure of things in the United States, but it is probable that Sorokino already had refugees at the time of the meme's creation- even refugees close to the people involved in the coup, because of the flag's accuracy.

The second one from the template "Let me in" we are certain refers to the Gilead attempt to legitimize their government at the United Nations panel. The origins of the template comes from a 2016 comedy show aired on the- note the watermark- Adult Swim network by a comedian named Eric Andre. It is self explanatory, I believe everyone knows that Gilead's attempt was roundly rejected by the U.N. panel. It is interesting to note though, that this is the first of the politicized memes created by the children. Perhaps they have started to show interest in adult politics, or perhaps they are finally interacting with peers who fled the newly founded Gilead Republic.

The next one, I can say for definite, mark the start of the Gilead Republic. This is not a meme template officially, but a screen cap from an even more obscure 2004 disney title called Mean Girls. It requires a brief understanding of the disney's plot to comprehend the deeper meanings of authorial intent. But it is a high school disney, and we have all been to high school and been witness to its politics -

(Laughter)

This scene is one of those assembly halls we all had to attend regarding bullying and exclusion, but in this case, it is not a precautionary seminar but a seminar chastising the participants- all of whom are teenage girls, lead by a female teacher. The teacher is depicted as the United Nations, and the flags pictured as the participating students are of Gilead, Mexico, United States, Canada and the Great Sioux Nation. The Gilead flag is placed on the character who did as the meme mentioned "PERSONAL VICTIMIZATION". Note the presence of the Great Sioux flag- that is how we can tell the time period of the meme's creation, as this marked the U.N.'s recognition of it as a legitimate state. Interesting to people who have watched the disney- only me in the room, I think - is the placement of the United States' flag. Not as a bystander like the other flags, but on the head of the main character in the disney- in the plot, the character is partly guilty of instigating the bullying in the school - so does this mean that the author of this meme puts some blame on the United States for the creation of Gilead?

Next we have the rather interesting mash up of electronic formats. As you may or may not know, before the regulation of online games with microtransactions targeted at children, the market was flooded with a mass of cut and paste clones of popular games, with one of these being story creators, where the user gets to pick between two choices in either dialogue or action to advance a simple story. Due to the nature of their creation, their contents were hilariously bad - in reference to plot, grammatical structure etc. Their art was also generic and bland, which prompted many to poke fun at them by putting in words to further emphasis the ridiculousness of the pot. One such my colleagues and I have called "Baby Wars", in reference to a kidnapped child that Gilead and Canada fought custody over. The dialogue, in its original context is completely nonsensical, but put in the tense atmosphere of Gilead and Canada at that time, this held more meaning. For there were reports of baby kidnappings by Gilead from Canada, and many Canadians were upset at their country's infertility- and polls from the time show that there were many Canadians that wanted war with Gilead. It is also noted that the white shirt worn by the woman accused of stealing babies is the same color that the young women recruiters sent by Gilead wore abroad.

The final meme is also the last one found in M. Dernier's computer. A sad one, looking at the state of things over the Pacific Ocean, and even sadder given events happening now. It has its origins in a 2006 comedy from Britain called That Mitchell and Webb look, and in it the two men dressed as Nazi soldiers are discussing, as depicted, if they were the bad guys. The Third Reich symbol has been replaced with the Gilead dove.

As you may know, there is a resurgence in defenders of the Gileadean regime, citing anything from the transportation networks built, the increased fertility rates, the decrease in crime and incarceration rates, the decrease in obesity rates, the increase in green energy used by the regime as a good thing.

I would have wish to give these pro-Gileadeans the chance to talk to the young people who created these memes- whose voices have been lost to time. They have fled from the country of their birth, displaced, and only saved by pure luck and the generosity of strangers. They survived, but left behind family members- brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers. Would they still champion those reasons afterwards?

Thank you for listening to my presentation, and again, thank you Aleksandr, for the invitation to the conference. I look forward to answering any questions tomorrow.

(Applause)


	9. Natasha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Natasha stares into a tiger's eyes, and starts her posting at Commander Pierce's house.

_Bayu Baushki Bayu _

_Do not lie down near the edge of the bed _

_The grey wolfie will come _

_He'll grab you by your tiny side _

_And drag you to the forest... _

_Drag you to the forest... _

_Down under an aspen tree. _

_Don't come round, wolfie, don't wake up our Masha._

-Russian lullaby

Breakfast at the Martha House was a perfect time to contemplate terrible life choices. It was silent, except for errant whispers, for one, and for two no one would snap at you for staring off into the distance. Four white-washed walls, four long tables, with one at the front of the room, the silent clinking of spoons and cutlery; this day was like every other day, except that she would be starting her shift at the Commander's house. Natasha knew she should've given more thought to accepting the sudden placement. She should've said good bye to Zibiah, should've explained to the girl that she wasn't being abandoned, that her only caretaker just needed to do something, anything to bring down Gilead. But the sudden appearance of the girl's relative, the other Marthas' point blank refusal to take the position and Emilia's death had made her impulsive and bold.

_Or you just don't want to take responsibility for anyone anymore, that girl was a dynamite ready to blow and Emilia was bad news- you should've said goodbye, you idiot, remember when you didn't- shut up! Just shut up!_

  
She clenches her teeth, willing the faded memories of her childish tantrum as her Papa drove away on a business trip- his last business trip.

_Get a grip on yourself! Be confident, a better memory! Stages, lights, audience cheering!_

She takes a deep breath and felt the same rushing feeling returned, the feeling of stepping on the stage for her first ballerina solo. She liked having an audience at her performances, the cheers and the flowers. There would be no audience now. But still, the thought of making an impact on anything, even if it was just working for Mrs. Pierce would at least make life bearable, less monotonous, less ... helpless. She was not helpless. Her life would mean something.

Speaking of Mrs. Pierce, she was a definite oddball among the wives, simply because you could see her walking, always with two masked guards, outside of the assigned block of houses reserved for the Commanders and their families. There were eleven commanders in this district, though from what anyone could see them doing, they were warm bodies and the real director was Commander Pierce. It was the same for their wives too, according to the Marthas assigned to work in their houses. No one really knows what to make of Commander Pierce's house, because there was only ever one Martha on the second floor assigned to his house at a time, and it's not like one could waltz up and question a third floor Martha on how Commander Pierce likes his toast in the morning.

"I think she's nice." Amy whispered, over their breakfast of bread and weak coffee, "I thought I lost my pass, and I was so scared when that beady eyed guard- you know the one that looks like he's going to shoot something any second- started yelling at me, she told him to shut it or she'll tell Pierce to demote him to the front."

"She told him to shut it?" said Esther, "No way."

"Well, obviously not!" said Amy, "She said something like, blessed day, if you want to show the Lord your skills as a soldier, pray tell me now so I may ask my husband to move you to your desired position. Else please stop raising your voice at the Martha."

"I heard he's strict." said Lu, elbowing Natasha discreetly, "You should wake up early and iron out that apron of yours tomorrow, but we can swap for now."

"Thanks." said Natasha, at Lu's earnest suggestion.

Everyone knew that if the Commander wants you gone, you were gone, but Natasha wasn't going to stick up her nose at an attempt to up her odds. Emilia had been at the Commander's house for the last six months, and the Marthas before that to her knowledge, lasted what was it- two, four and three. It wasn't a long placement. No one asks where they went.

If she was seeing a psychologist, they'd undoubtedly label her with some sort of suicidal ideation. Or crippling optimism.

_There must be a reason why Zibiah's uncle just showed up out of the blue and told me that Mrs. Pierce asked for me specifically._

She was startled out of her thoughts by the _ding-ding-ding _of a bell from the Head Martha.

"Breakfast's over, ladies!" boomed Tabitha, the Head Martha from her place at the front of the tables. "Single file and quickly now, we don't want anymore Incidents do we."

_Wait- Incidents? Something else happened?_

Tabitha blinked, suddenly realizing her mistake from the sudden hush in the room, smiled too quickly and said, "It was an incident in the Guardian quarters, nothing to concern you ladies."

If anything, she made everyone the more curious. An incident in the Guardian quarters? Those wind-up soldiers with trigger tempers and fingers? From the looks her fellow Marthas were giving each other, no one knew exactly what happened. As they lined up to put away their breakfast trays, Natasha heard their puzzled whispers.

"What, did one of them shoot another?"

"Can't be, I heard they got stricter about lock ups after that other Incident."

"You think it's Commander-related?"

Natasha could feel eyes on her now, pitying ones.

"Don't be stupid, Commander related and the whole place would be in lockdown. Probably a trainee, I know they ordered in new uniforms- all fifty hand washed pieces." said Lu, "Here, Natalie, swap."

"Thanks." said Natasha, undoing the knot on hers and handing Lu her apron. She couldn't see the difference, but figures that Lu, working at the laundry all day could see creases in her sleep.

"Hurry ladies, idle hands are the devil's tools!" snapped Tabitha, "Quickly now- and don't forget your passes! Where's Natalie- come forward now, I haven't got all day."

"She's probably just giving you a new pass." whispered Esther as she passed by Natasha, "I think. Don't look too scared, she hates that."

Natasha walked pass the tide of green Marthas toward Tabitha, who gestured impatiently at her.

"Yes, ma’am?" she asked, hesitantly.

_You can never be too sure with Head Marthas. They can be cotton candy sweet one moment and a vicious viper the next. _

"Your new pass." said Tabitha, handing her a shiny plastic card, "Don't bother lining up with the rest when you leave, you just go to the front of the line, you hear?"

"Yes, ma’am." she said, and made to leave until Tabitha held out a hand to her.

"I never dismissed you, girl." said Tabitha, "The Commander." she continued, lowering her voice in an unusual softness, "He likes rules and games. He likes winning. Don't tell him you don't want to play." she paused, eyes flickering around the now empty room and closed door. "That's why Emilia never came back."

_What games? _

Tabitha seemed to guess her question, because she continued in the same hushed whisper.

"He'll tell you the rules, and you have to play them." she gave Natasha a meaningful look, "It's nothing to do with Jezebels or Handmaids, it's something else."

"Why are you telling me this?" asked Natasha, before she could help herself.

Tabitha blinked, and then as if shuttering windows from the rain, continued in her normal cold tone, "I keep promises. Especially to former friends. Have a blessed day, Natalie."

Natasha knew a dismissal when she heard it, and headed towards the door, fingering her new ID card in her pocket. It's a bit thicker than the usual ones, maybe a keycard, she knew Commanders liked to keep things locked up.

_Jezebels huh? _

She was surprised that the pious Tabitha knew what Jezebels were, but who knows what the head Marthas gossip about in their room? Natasha only knew of them from gossip shared by Lu, privy to all the laundry details in the district.

"They're all disgusting." she had said, sitting on the bed and brushing her black hair before bed, "All those sheets, gross!" she clarified, at the confused looks given to her, "What you, think they use _those_?"

There's never been a ban on the words condom, but it's best not to be heard saying it. In any case, everyone in the room understood.

"The Commanders here all got themselves Handmaids." Kelly had said, incredulous, "You'd think they have had enough? I thought Jezebels were for soldiers."

"Oh, sure, the soldiers-" said Esther, "Look at them, you think they get any?"

It was one of the few things they could find funny. The irony of the situation. The soldiers chose to be there. They, the Marthas, didn't.

_Stop daydreaming! _

When she walked out of the building, Natasha had made for the customary line up to check IDs at the gate toward the Commanders' neighborhood, but reminded herself of Tabitha's command, or was it a warning, and headed towards the front of the line.

It was still early enough in the morning that her breath clouded in front of her like puffs of forbidden cigarette smoke. The Guardian in the box didn't even glance at her new card as she reached up to put it on the little open slot in front of him.

"Rollins! It's the Martha." he said, turning to the Guardian standing behind him.

She froze, her hand halfway towards pulling the card out of the slot, like a child caught with a cookie, and suddenly the memory of a scolding voice came back to her.

_No hands in the cookie jar Natasha!_

"Go on, get!" snapped the Guardian, waving her away like an irritable fly.

From the corner of her eye she could see the Guardian- Rumlow was it, exiting the box and opening the gates for her and she nearly tripped as she walked through the gate in her haste.

"Hope you're not this clumsy." he muttered to her as she made her way to him. "Won't do you any good if you were."

His mask effectively hid to spying eyes any communication attempts he made towards her, but she didn't have a mask, only her green scarf around her neck.

_Is this a trick?_

She couldn't see his face, well, to be honest, no one can see a Guardian's face.

_Can I trust him? _

Rollins made the move for her.

"You're scared 'cause I'm here isn't it? Don't bother, save that for the Commander. I'm here to take you to the Mrs." he pauses at her silence, "You think I'm going to rat you out huh? Like I did with Emilia?"

She flinches at the name, and thinks that he laughs beneath the mask.

"Don't be stupid. Emilia was one ray of sunshine- way too optimistic for her own good, but hey, I bet you're patting yourself on the back for getting this posting. You think you're going to get perks huh? Don't bother, the Commander hates everyone equally."

_He can't be on drugs, or drunk? I thought they banned those. He's too talkative, too friendly._

Natasha scowled, and pulled her scarf around her face, hiding her mouth.

"I didn't take the post for favors!" she hissed angrily, though the effect was negated by the knitted fabric, "And I'd be stupid to trust any Guardian- especially you!"

For the first time she hates the masks the soldiers wore, because she wasn't quite sure of his reaction, there was a long silence as they walked towards the biggest house in the neighborhood.

"Of course, you're right." he said, and they lapsed into silence again as they approached the gate.

A figure in blue was already waiting for them, Mrs. Pierce, presumably, and Rollins sounded faintly surprised seeing her, exclaiming, "Mrs. Pierce! I thought you would be-"

"I never liked not greeting newcomers into the house." replied Mrs. Pierce, stepping aside as the high gates swung open from a plastic keycard scanned by Rollins, "It would be rude not to."

The wives all wore blue veils when walking outside, but you could still see some of their face. Mrs. Pierce looked like the grandmotherly types, even talked in soft tones like one. Not that Natasha knew much of grandmothers, both extended sides of her family tree might well be dead branches. An errant thought crossed her mind of Mrs. Pierce baking cookies with a gaggle of children at her feet and Natasha had to swallow the flinch.

_If there were any children, they'd be stolen. _

The woman was too old to have any of her own, older, she realized suddenly, than any of the other wives.

"You must be Natalia." said Mrs. Pierce, "Come, I want to show you my greenhouse. Rollins if you can roll that wheelbarrow over, my strength isn't what it used to be."

"Where's the bloody gardener then?" muttered Rollins, but Natasha saw him head over to the wheelbarrow and begin wheeling it behind them anyway.

Mrs. Pierce's greenhouse was nestled quite far from the house, with tall trimmed hedges and flowers decorating the path there. Decorative gnomes, _gnomes_, had been artistically placed in some parts. Natasha noted with some irony that all of them wore red hats. Or bonnets, depending on how you look at the matter.

"Please, come in." said Mrs. Pierce, gesturing towards the open greenhouse. "Rollins, will you please be a dear and shovel out the wheelbarrow? Take your time."

Natasha hesitated, and stepped into the glass house. It was, surprisingly, quite homely. She thinks it resembles more of an old fashioned sewing or reading room with more plants than usual, than a professional greenhouse. There was two tables, one filled with potted plants and a matching chair facing a slightly opened window, presumably for the gardener to sit on while pruning them. A bit strange, but then again, wasn't Mrs. Pierce an older lady? The other table had unfinished knitting and an old record player on the table and Mrs. Pierce started it, classical music, long forgotten, suddenly in the air.

"Can you hear me dear?" asked Mrs. Pierce.

"Yes, ma'am?" said Natasha, puzzled, until she saw the older woman's hand reached toward the dial for the volume and turned it upwards.

"Now?" asked Mrs. Pierce, against the cacophony of violins.

"Yes, ma'am." said Natasha.

"Good." said Mrs. Pierce. She gestures towards the chair, "If you don't mind, I'll have a seat. My knees just aren't what they used to be."

Sitting down on the chair that faced one of the glossed windows, the older woman pulls one of the plants towards her and stares at it critically, then sighed, and said; "Do you like roses, Natasha?"

_Was this the question? She knows my name? What was the answer? _

"Yes." said Natasha, then a sudden sinking feeling came into her stomach- _what if that was the wrong response_\- she clenches her hand beneath her green apron and tried very hard not to flinch. "I'm not- I'm not Russian." she said, the lie feeble on her tongue.

"My husband," there was a pause, "knows everyone's secrets that walks through his house." said Mrs. Pierce, her face unreadable through the veil, "He knows your name is Natasha. Presumably, he also knows who your parents are and what they did too. I've asked Emilia the question before, and I'll ask it to you now, are you sure you want this posting?"

_This must be a trick question._

"Yes, Ma'am." said Natasha firmly.

"That's brave of you." the older woman folds her hands on her lap.

For the second time that day, Natasha found herself wishing she could see the faces of the Wives and the Guardians. It was difficult to read Mrs. Pierce's emotions under the veil. A difficulty that could prove deadly, if everyone is warning her of the Commander.

_What did I get myself into? _

"Emilia was a brilliant woman." said Mrs. Pierce, "She told me to ask for you. She said you'd be better than her at this post."

"She did?" said Natasha, faintly surprised. The few times they had discussed Emilia's posting her friend had flatly told her it was worst than the Laundry detail.

"She said you could read Cyrillic." said Mrs. Pierce, "Is she right?"

"Would it be a problem, Ma'am?"

"No. An asset, actually, if we are using his words." the older woman paused, "You might stay longer, if that's the case-"

She suddenly turned her head away from Natasha, peering at the slit in the open window.

"I'm afraid introductions stop here. Please bring a basket tomorrow, I would love some company while walking." the older woman said, standing up and gesturing Natasha to stand in the corner, her eyes fixed on the greenhouse door.

Natasha blinks at the sudden change in topic, but following Mrs. Pierce's gaze she saw that there was a man's shadow at the door. The sudden hush of the two women made the music sound even louder, and jarring. Then came some knocks, polite, Natasha knew, but she grew up to be apprehensive of knocks on doors by unknown figures.

"Please, come in." said Mrs. Pierce, loudly, over the music.

When she'd been younger, her family had taken a trip to the zoo, she didn't remember where. The clearest memory she had though was the albino tiger they had on display. The male tiger had been pacing restlessly back and forth against the cage until he'd spotted the few kids that came to ogle him from the safety of multiple barriers. Then he'd stopped and stared at them, crouching and staring unblinkingly at the children, the only movement coming from his flicking tail. Natasha had sworn the tiger had turned to look at her then, and she'd ran back to her Papa's arms, gripping his coat in her hands. The unnatural blue in the tiger's eyes had unnerved her. It didn't look like the tigers in her picture books.

"Don't be afraid Masha, he can't jump over that fence!" he had told her, laughing, "I think he's more afraid of you, little redhead, coming to look at him!"

There was no calming reassurances now to the thumping fear she felt in her heart when the door swung open to reveal Commander Pierce, flanked by two Guardians. She was in a glass cage with a tiger and his keepers. The tiger who wore a human face, and smiled, blue eyes first turning to Mrs. Pierce, then to her.

"Blessed day, I did not expect you to greet our new Martha so quickly, Wife." said Commander Pierce, "I see you've already arranged Rollins to accompany you for your walk, will you do me the favor of letting him do his duty instead of gardening?"

"To God be the glory." replied Mrs. Pierce, "I hope to see you this evening." she turned to Natasha, "Under His eye."

_Was that a hint? _

Mrs. Pierce turned off the music player as she left, closing the door behind her and the sudden silence was deafening. Commander Pierce turns to her then smiling. It struck her that there was something wrong with the smile, but she couldn't put a finger on why all the hairs on her arms stood on end.

"My wife has the most _unconventional _greetings, and traditions, though I am no different, здравствуйте, Natasha."

She takes in his smile at the perfect Russian pronunciation, his confidence. _Zdraztvuytye, a formal hello then. Should I play it safe? _

"Доброе утро, Commander." she replied, briefly meeting his eyes, "Under His eye."

_If he killed her for saying good morning, she'd make the record as the shortest Martha posting at this cursed house. _

He surprised her by laughing. The man who everyone was afraid of, who she knew personally executed people, was laughing as if they'd shared a joke. He held out his hand to her, professional-like. They would've just signed a contract like Before, for all she knew.

_A handshake? _

"Not the shaking type?" he asked, at her hesitation.

"_I am a Martha sir, that would be inappropriate._" she said, trying out her rusty Russian.

He smiled, and replied, "_I do believe we will get along splendidly._"


	10. Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Guardian Jack accidentally encourages heretical thought.

_So come on, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack Flash sat on a candlestick  
'Cause fire is the devil's only friend  
Oh, and as I watched him on the stage-_

_I saw Satan laughing with delight  
The day the music died  
He was singin'  
bye-bye, Miss American Pie..._

_\- recovered record from a former Gileadean barrack_

This was just one of the nights that kept him awake, no matter how hard he tried to fall asleep. His head is just cursed with thinking about things at precisely the wrong times. At this particular cursed time, his head was filled with thoughts about his cousin's quinceañera, where he'd accidentally smashed her cake. He counts it lucky his mother was wearing her nice heels at the time, or he'd have to duck to avoid a flying chancla.

_"Why can't you just take one minute to think? For one minute!" _

_Why can't you think_. Well, wasn't that a thing he heard quite often. His elementary school teacher had said it, the priest said it in more holy terms, the counselor at high school said it, his abuela, bless her cold heart, had said it. It's probably a family curse, because his mamá was, according to all sources, was quite a flighty and spontaneous soul as a teenager. She had to take a course in real life when he was born, a fact that she's constantly remind him, any chance she had. He remembered the one time snapped back that he didn't ask to be born with dumb name from some dead soap opera actor no one cares about had resulted in, well resulted in him swearing to himself that he'd march himself to the courthouse at eighteen for a name change. Not that first names mean anything now, when you are officially sworn in as a Guardian, you are no longer referred to by your first names. These days, he finds himself half wishing someone to call him Jack.

Not that eighteen year old him had that much foresight. Far as he was concerned at that age, his name, was one of things he could fix in long line of unfortunate conga dance of situations he was born into. No one in his mamá's family particularly cared for him, especially what with his unknown paternity gossiped by the aunts to be one of _those _men. Those men now call themselves the leaders and visionaries of of Gilead. He doubts it, the way they go on and on about fidelity to their wives and maintaining purity of spirit, why would they even bother looking his teenager mamá's way?

Speaking of the name change at eighteen, that never happened either, because instead of just walking straight into the courthouse he'd managed to somehow gotten caught up in one of those protests. Before the official establishment of the Gileadean flag, they had flown all manners of flags in front of government buildings.

They called for young men to fulfill their duties, saying that the government had failed them, asking any passing male bystanders why is it that they are forced to work for pennies while their fathers and grandfathers would have comfortably retired with a wife and two point five children by now. That had appealed to him. He wanted security. He wanted a purpose. He'd willingly gone with them to their headquarters and signed one of their pledges. They promised that he would be given a purpose. No one expected that the Feds, well, the former Feds, would decide to raid the headquarters precisely as he was putting his signature on the paper. It was fresh incriminating evidence that he was a terrorist, and another body in the local lock-up. He didn't like to think about his experience after that.

He was rescued, on day one hundred and four by an irate Joseph, shadowed by one of the Pierce family lawyers.

_"Are you a special kind of idiot? Don't ever sign a contract without thinking it through!"_

Joseph had been furious at his antics, though what Jack remembered more about the encounter was his relief, and the deep shadows underneath his friend's eyes.

_"Are you alright?" _he'd asked, when they were sitting in the back of the lawyer's expensive car.

_"Never better." _Joseph had said, smiling too widely and glancing at the driving lawyer. He was pulling at his posh coat, crossing his hands protectively over his stomach.

Looking back, this is most likely, what did one of his ex-girlfriends say- a red flag that something fishy was up with the Pierce household. But he was a dumb kid happy to have someone bail him out, and more concerned about his mamá's reaction. Her reaction, it turned out, was to sign him off to work with one of his uncles in construction. To be properly supervised, she had told him. The joke was on her, his uncle's supervision was minimal at best, giving him plenty of opportunities to sneak off. That was something he came to be somewhat of an expert at, and something that came to be useful now.

Experience in such sneaky shenanigans was also how he managed to catch one of the young recruits Isaac reading one of _those _books. He knew that reading was banned in some districts for Guardians and Angels, but those districts were safe from _rebel _attacks. Pierce, Commander Pierce, was cruel but he wasn't dumb. Their district needs soldiers who can follow instructions, keep track of what they've been told to do, where to go, and how to do it. Plus, how else can they read those hell fire and damnation pamphlets that are passed around every Sunday like candy?

He thinks most of them don't buy it. But he wasn't sure, especially when he'd seen the downright glee in some of their faces as they came back from a _cleansing_. Jack knows not to stand out, in principle, but he'd always kept an open eye which lead to noticing the book Isaac was reading, hunched in his assigned bunk. The gangly blond boy somehow knew where to look and who to ask, for the modified copy of _The Little Prince_ that he was reading. It was modified in the sense that the font was similar to those of Gileadean Guardian pamphlets, and the pictures were obviously gone. The only sign that it wasn't what it seemed was the worn look to it, evident of the text being passed around.

_"You shouldn't read that so openly." _he'd said to Isaac in passing.

That was a big mistake, as the kid immediately latched on to him like an elder brother, or god forbid a father figure and boy, did that kid like to ask questions. As if he wasn't already juggling too many details of his life, he now had to keep an eye out for an overly curious Isaac. The kid tailed him like a lost puppy, so much so that even the oblivious Brock asked if he wanted to switch careers, become a 'teacher' instead. It's not as if he even encouraged the attention. Jack suspects that he's the only one in Isaac's life that even bothered to answer questions, and promptly refused to compare his teenage years with Isaac's. He thinks it's guilt then, that made him entertain the never ending stream of questions- though he warned Isaac to only ask him them at the training grounds, where the noise from bullets would drown out any eavesdroppers.

_"Have you read The Little Prince?"_ Isaac had whispered to him at the training grounds.

_"Before, yes." _he had said, because well, if the kid is going to blab to Captain Creel, he already had ammunition.

_"What does a fox look like?" _Isaac had barreled on, _"The book says they're pretty to look at, are they?"_

_"Like a very small red dog, but the nose is pointier and the tail-" _at Isaac's confused look, he rolled his eyes, _ "They're out deep in the woods, in their burrows, you might see them when you're officially on patrol." _

_"Did you see them, Before?" _

_"Probably. I don't remember."_

_"I'd like to have one. I wanted a dog, but wanting is a sin." _

_"You can't have a fox, ki-brother." _said Jack, catching himself, _"They're not pets, you have to tame them."_

He wasn't sure if he'd now put in the idea of catching one of those rogue beasts in Isaac's mind, which was probably a bad idea, no doubt Captain Creel would order them to shoot the animal. Isaac had given him a rare smile, showing crooked teeth that would've landed him in a dentist chair had he been born Before.

The whispered conversations didn't stop there. Whoever that circulated the book was some sort of damned genius, the amount of questions that this kid kept asking him.

_"Is it boring to grow up?" _He'd been asked at lunch.

_"Is it bad to judge people?" _He'd been asked at the training grounds.

_"How do you even look with your heart?" _That had been one of the last straws. Jack had turned to Isaac and tried his best to breathe deeply.

_"I don't know. Did you ever think that this book is just a story? Sometimes the author just writes whatever he wants, and let you think about it whatever you like, you don't have to have answers all the time!"_

He thought that had been the end of it, but as fate would have it, the advice he gave was probably one that he should've given some thought to before just vomiting the words out of his mouth.

_Why can't you just take one minute to think?_


	11. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony meets Hank and a familiar face from Brooklyn.

_She came out and went ashore, Katyusha!_

_On the lofty bank, on the steeply shores. _

_Let him remember his lover whom he adores,_

_Let him hear the song she is singing,_

_Let him protect his Motherland, unrelenting,_

_And their love Katyusha holds forevermore._

_\- unknown singer, circa 2050s_

When he showed up at the embassy, the surly Russian guard was talking animatedly with a tall blond man in an old fashion getup. Seriously, did the guy take his fashion style from some old sixties movie? The guard was eating something from a tin in front of him. Blatant bribery it seemed like. If he'd known that a tin of butter cookies would pacify the guard he would have bought some the last time.

Safely back at his Uncle Sam issued room a week ago, he had tried to look for the group that Rasputin had mentioned. It was to his frustration, quite impossible, as the guy did not mention where the group was, and photos of the children on the wall did not have any identifying locations. That was possibly the whole point, dangle a fish in front of him and wait for him to bite. It had been the case for a while now, many smugglers in Alaska would offer desperate relatives damn near fantastical fees to smuggle loved ones out of Gilead. They weren't all in Alaska either, Tony knew, he'd looked. International smugglers were getting in on the business too. Fishing in the gullible, reeling in the cash. It's not like he can say anything different, he too, was fleeced.

He had tried to remember where Banner said he was going, and that also got him zilch. As far as his brain remembered, Banner wanted to go to India, or was it Indonesia? Same thing for Danvers, she could've said she was going to the moon for all his faint memories of her resignation announcement was. His Russian was not good enough to look through the Russian news outlet, and considering that they no longer use common search engines, instead opting for some sort of internal lockdown for all of their news that was useless.

"Good morning, you must be Mr. Stark." said the blond man, holding out a hand.

Tony shakes his hand automatically, jerking out of his thoughts.

"Good morning." he said, "are you-"

"No. You're meeting the person in there." said the blond, pointing towards the closed door. "Good luck."

The guard motions him to enter the room, and Tony could hear the two start talking animatedly again. He wishes he'd taken those Russian language courses, or have one of his translation phones. That would have been useful. As he entered and closed the door he could hear the radio music, like last time, being played loudly. At least it wasn't a Rasputin song, though it definitely sounded Russian.

Rasputin was there, sitting on the couch where he last had tea with Tony. Sitting next to him was a messy brown haired young man in his late twenties, but it could just be the big framed glasses he was wearing that really shaved off the age.

"Mr. Stark! Pleased to meet you." said the young man, holding out a hand.

Tony thinks Rasputin hides a smile behind a mug.

"Thank you." he said, hoping it didn't come off as sarcasm, "And you are-"

"Hank." replied the man, "Hank would be fine. Please, have a seat. I'm more than happy to have a chance to talk to you. I am a huge fan of your work."

Well, that wasn't something he'd heard in a while. Tony thinks he can feel his nonexistence pride glowing.

"Oh?" said Tony, taking his seat opposite of them.

"Yes, your company's technological breakthroughs were very impressive. Certainly with the scope of the materials that you were able to work with at the time, it's pretty surprising that it was even possible to-"

"I hate interrupting, but I do need my office for other meetings." said Rasputin, "I suggest having talks about this after?"

"Oh, of course." said Hank, looking slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, again, Rasputin."

Hank pauses, and rubs his hand together.

"What do you have to offer us, Mr. Stark?" he asked, staring earnestly at Tony.

"Sorry?" said Tony.

"I know you're a good engineer." said Hank, "But we've got plenty of good engineers. Rasputin must've told you, many US citizens fled abroad. There's plenty of engineers to go around, are you really worth our time?"

"You know it's not every day I have to go to a job interview." said Tony, "But yes, I am the Head of Stark Industries, I have PhDs in chemical engineering and robotics, and I was working on ecological fuel sources for planes prior to Gilead. If that is what you're looking for. Unless, of course, you want a different kind of engineering, in which case I am more than happy to study up whatever you want me to be a moonlighting specialist at."

"OK." said Hank, nodding along, "So you're good, of course, but you could've just worked for someone else. There's plenty of other people smuggling refugees out, why do you want to work with us?"

"Rasputin here gave you a rousing endorsement, though I'm kind of doubting it now." said Tony, deciding not to mention Belinda's reference.

"Now that you mention it." said Hank, pushing his glasses back on his nose, "Does this ring a bell?"

He pulls out a paper from inside the pocket of his brown coat, handing it to Tony.

"Our organization has information on hidden people within Gilead. The Underground Railroad, so to speak."

Hank glances at Rasputin, who nodded, and said, "It's true. This is the reference point that the Kremlin uses."

The piece of paper felt strangely rough in Tony's hand. It was handmade, he realize, at a closer look, the pulp was not properly filtered through, or either that, it was made from recycled cloth.

It read: _WE CONFIRM WE ARE SAFE AND IN THE CARE OF - _the name was redacted. What drew his attention, more than anything, was the signatures, and in particular-

  
"Pepper?" he said, in a half whisper, his finger tracing the familiar V, the curl of the s. The signature he'd seen so often, before.

He thinks he blinks back tears, and when he looks up, Hank gives him an appraising look.

"Does this convince you? I mean, you can get the paper checked out by some lab, it won't tell you much, but I dunno, maybe some signature analyst can tell you it's real-"

"It's the most anyone's ever given me." said Tony, "Where did you get this? Where is she?"

The young man frowns at this, scratching at his ear.

"That I can't say. It's not my department. What I can tell you is that we always get some updates, and this is a list of confirmed names that are in hiding in Gilead. Obviously there might be more than one Virginia Potts, but from our own analysis of your wife's handwriting, we thought this was a match."

This was a very convincing set up, if the Russians wanted to kidnap him. But this was the most that anyone had ever given him in the years and years that he was looking for any chance to rescue his family. Tony always counted himself as a gambling man.

"I would like to join your group." said Tony.

"No take backs?" said Hank, cracking a smile.

"Yes." said Tony.

"I'll still give you a week to decide. If you are still interested, call the number on this card-" Hank hanks him a card, with a number scribbled on it. "The phone that's connected is a burner, we will turn it on at noon, for five minutes only. If we do not receive your call, it will be difficult for you to reach us after that."

He holds out his hand to Tony.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Stark."

Tony decided that he must get used to being casually dismissed. As he was leaving he saw from the corner of his eye Hank turning to Rasputin and talking animatedly in Russian. He thinks he catches the words M&Ms and Twinkies. Maybe Hank was younger than he thought.

"How did everything go?" asked the blond man as he left the room.

"Fine, I guess I'll see you next week."

"See you then." said the man, giving him a thumbs up and a smile.

It wasn't until Tony left the building that a dawning recognition of the man's accent hit him. He sounded like he was from former Brooklyn.


	12. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve prepares for a flight to Alaska and events unfold beyond the project plan.

_I wish I was on yonder hill  
'Tis there I'd sit and cry my fill  
Until every tear would turn a mill  
Is go dté tu, mo mhuirnín slán_

_I wish, I wish, I wish in vain  
I wish I had my heart again  
And vainly think I'd not complain  
Is go dté tu, mo mhuirnín slán_  
_-_ _ Siúil A Rún, traditional Irish song_

Steve wakes up to the ending notes of the lullaby his mother used to sing to him. It was one of the things he still clung to, the remnants of his Irish mother and Brooklyn childhood. There was no one in Sorokino that came from Brooklyn, but he met a few Irishmen and women. None of them though, could sing Siúil A Rún like his mother could. He had to stop thinking about her in past tense. Neither Sarah Rogers or Sarah Flynn, her unmarried name, had shown up or been flagged on any of the lists that Sorokino keeps updated.

That was his whole problem wasn't it? He was always thinking about the past. Brooding, Peggy used to call it.

_"It makes you look all mysterious and-" _she had laughed then, _"sweet. I wanted to just swoop in and put a smile on your face."_

They'd worked for a while. Steve had wanted to embrace the life they built together far from the ashes of his former one. He'd wanted them both to come home, cook and laugh over some joke or another in their little Irish house. He wanted the simple life.

Peggy was the one to call it quits.

_"I'm sorry Steve." _she had said, _"But I can't stand it. I don't want to live in the shadow of your-" _she had paused there, looking for words, _"your regrets. I want to live with someone who wants to be with me in this moment. I've lived in the shadows of men my whole life-" _she raised her hand, stalling Steve's reply, _"I mean their career ambitions, but, Steve, I don't want, well I don't want us both to regret being together."_

_"I don't regret our lives together Peggy. I love you, really, I want this to work-"_

_"Steve, listen. Wanting a relationship to work just, doesn't cut it for me. Sure a relationship is work sometimes, but it shouldn't be all the time." _she had bit her lip, shaking her head slightly side to side,_ "I don't know what it is that bothers you. Maybe it's nothing, maybe it's something, but every so often, we would be happy and you would get this, this look on your face. I thought you were sad, before, and I could just make it go away. But it isn't sadness, it's regret. You shouldn't be with me, with anyone really, if you're hung up over something else." _she had given him a guilty look, _"I'm sorry if it comes off as selfish, but-"_

Steve had winced, _"No, you're right."_

_"I wished we'd worked out Steve, I really do." _she had reached over to squeeze his hand, _"I hope you find whatever, whoever it is you're looking for."_

Being an ever practical and efficient type, Peggy had packed up and left on the very same night, leaving Steve behind with an empty room and an even emptier feeling in his chest. Her departure had resulted in Steve going off to the bar, a place he normally never visited. Actually entering the place had made him even more upset, if possible, because that was the same floor that Peggy had shared a dance with him.

The temporary barkeeper had glanced up when the door opened, shouting a merry, _"Bonsoir Rogers! What unexpected company-" _Jacques had greeted him, the Frenchman turning to a heavily bearded man sitting at the bar, _"hey, Nicholas, didn't you say you was looking for pilots, Rogers here's one."_

_"Evening, Rogers." _Nicholas had said, holding out a hand to Steve, _"Something the matter? Here, have seat-"_ he had gestured to the seat next to him, _ "drinks will friends with help, hey, not the vodka Jacques, Rogers doesn't look like the drinking type."_

_"What's the matter Rogers?" _Jacques had said.

_"Peggy." _Steve had replied, and Jacques had nodded encouragingly, _"We didn't work out."_

_"I sympathize." _Nicholas had said, passing him a drink, _"Peggy is... sharp and very biting. Like Siberian winter. She said something about you, did she?"_

_"You know her?" _Steve had said.

Jacques had laughed, and Nicholas had given him a wry grin, scratching at his beard._ "I worked with her for some time. It is very small circle, what we do here."_

_"I assumed she broke up with you?" _Jacques had asked, to Steve's sad nod.

_"Perhaps a changing scenery might bring you cheer." _Nicholas had said. _"Jacques wouldn't have mentioned you to me otherwise. How good do you pilot?"_

The resulting ten or so vodka mixtures had Steve divulging his flight, literally and figuratively from the formation of Gilead. Which included, among many things leaving behind friends, family and a possible relationship with Bucky. Then him meeting Peggy at a café in Ireland, the place where he'd managed to claim residency due to his mother's heritage and, did he mention the possible relationship with Bucky?

_"You had hard time, Rogers." _Nicholas had said, patting his back sympathetically as he held his head in his hands. _"Blaming and thinking ruins most things. I would know."_

_"Nicholas, I don't think he wants-" _Jacques had started, only to be steamrolled by Nicholas who continued,

_"Rogers, you are not one man island who fled Gilead. There are many refugees, I know, I helped many escaped, and wish many nights I could help more. You are upset, and anger can fuel most things. Maybe you hold this anger and fuel it to something more."_

The two men had stayed for Steve's incoherent stream of vodka fueled guilt several hours later. Nicholas had even helped hoist him back to the shared room he had with Jacques, because as he explained while the three of them staggered around, trying to find balance between themselves, _"Would pull a muscle, moving you to your room."_

Steve had woken up the next day to a blinding headache, thankful that the blinds were completely shut.

_"You want some water for that headache?" _Nicholas had said, holding out a glass.

_"Thanks." _

Steve had gratefully downed the glass, and Nicholas offered him another one when he finished.

_"You know, I learn interesting thing about you, while you were sleeping off vodka." _Nicholas had said, conversationally, _"You know Joseph Pierce?"_

_"We went to school together." _Steve had said, _"Why's that?"_

_"Nothing too bad." _Nicholas had replied, _"He called, and recognize your name when I mentioned a Steve Rogers. He said he would trust you."_

_"As a pilot?" _

_"Not just piloting." _Nicholas had said, giving him a rare smile, _"Project Mary."_

Later in Sorokino, Steve had learned that one of Nicholas' nicknames was the Fox. That was an underappreciated nickname, as far as he was concerned, if someone were to take a look at the amount of people Nicholas managed to recruit to the Project. Or the amount of paperwork he'd managed to fix to make it work. Fixing being the term they used in Sorokino for anything done under the table.

His thoughts were interrupted by an impatient ping from the wristwatch he wore. Steve glances at the touchscreen surface and frowns.

5:30 am DANVERS: request meeting ASAP for WEST div RE proj mary

Steve frowns at sudden urgency of Danvers' message. Didn't they have weekly or biweekly meetings for the western division? He swipes at the watch face and was immediately greeted with a flood of messages from Danvers' team.

5:31 am TALOS: wtf? its 5 morning Danvers!

5:34 am CHAN: talos did u check newsfeed

5:35 am DERNIER: that is fine explosives! wow!

5:36 am DERNIER: US will not be happy now

5:40 am DANVERS: CONFIRM MEETING FORUM 1, 7 SHARP

5:41 am TALOS: shit.

5:42 am CHAN: is it bad to say I'm impressed?

That was definitely odd. He glances around the shared bedroom, Dum-Dum and Jones were still fast asleep and it didn't seem worth it to wake them. Slowly, careful not to wake the two light sleepers, he rolled out from the bunk and grabbed the clothes he'd laid out last night. When he finished pulling on the shirt and knitted sweater, he pulled the backpack, already packed with essentials he might need for the trip to Alaska, he began tip toeing out.

Steve nearly jumped when Dum-Dum sleepily said from his bunk, "Good luck, Captain America."

"Thanks." he replied, begrudgingly. There was no sneaking around Dum-Dum.

It was early morning when he walked out of the series of bedrooms, so Steve didn't expect to see any activity as he headed outside towards the hangar where Hank would undoubtedly be waiting. Having Joseph intercepting him while he walked to the hangar, on the other hand was a welcomed surprise. This time, Lu-Lu wasn't with him, and Joseph looked more relaxed than he had the last time they spoke. Nicholas must've returned then. Joseph's hair was back in its customary single braid, and he'd slung a bag over one shoulder.

"Good morning." he said, brightly, "You ready for your flight?"

"We'll see." said Steve. He didn't have a phobia of flying planes, he tells himself internally, just crashing them into the ocean.

They both walked in companionable silence until Joseph spoke up, "I asked the kids to keep Hank awake all night." said Joseph, "So he'll probably nod off as soon as you're in the air."

"Thanks." said Steve, amused, "And how did you do that, pray tell?"

"Said Hank would be on a great journey and they have to give him gifts." said Joseph.

Steve laughed. "That worked?"

"Worked brilliantly, I'd say."

"You look like you actually slept." said Steve, "Did Nicholas return?"

"He did." Joseph confirmed, rubbing gloved hands together. "He didn't take the new nickname well."

"I have to admit it's pretty silly." said Steve.

"Speaking of silly." Joseph pulled out a circular tin from his backpack, "Here, finest tea cookies in Sorokino, give that to whoever's guarding the embassy, it'll make your wait a whole lot friendlier."

"Is this the one tin in Sorokino that doesn't have sewing supplies?" said Steve, amused, taking the tin from Joseph.

They stopped briefly to let Steve stuff the tin into his backpack on top of his clothes.

"Hank's got all the other materials." said Joseph, "So don't worry about it. Just make sure to speak Russian once you get there."

"Hmm." said Steve, "By the way, do you know what happened this morning with Danvers' team?"

"Oh it's a complete mess." Joseph replied, "Do you really want to know?"

"Depends. Is it bad?"

"From the U.S. government's perspective, definitely." said Joseph.

"I saw Dernier mention something about explosives."

"Of course he would." said Joseph, "Yeah, it did involve explosives."

"Should I ask what?"

"Well." Joseph glances at the approaching hangar, "How much do you know about the recent United Nations meeting?"

"Not much no." said Steve.

"There was a petition by the leaders of Great Sioux Nations to recognize their sovereignty as an independent nation, free from Gilead and the United States."

"Fuck." Steve said, breath suddenly knocked out of him, "Did that go well? Oh I don't think that went well at all."

"No it didn't." said Joseph, "The U.N. said they will think about it, which basically translates to a strong wait and see attitude, which I don't think the chiefs liked at all, considering Gilead has been on a rampaging campaign against them and the U.S had been sitting ducks in Alaska."

"And the explosives?"

"Well you know Mount Rushmore, the Shrine of Democracy or something like that?" Joseph bites his lip shaking his head in what Steve thinks is shock.

"Yes?" he said, knowing he wouldn't like the answer.

"You'd better start calling Cougar Mountain." said Joseph, "The heads aren't there anymore. They've been blown off as symbolic gesture."

Steve had flown many planes on many flights before, solo ones, long haul ones where the entire crew was excitedly happy to return home or the opposite, where everyone was headed off to the unknown. This shouldn't be a difficult flight, he knows, but he thinks that his mind could fill in the blanks of what had happened at the mountain. Chan had asked if it was bad to say that she was impressed, and he wonders the same. Everyone had teased him, on varying levels, for the nickname he'd chosen. He thinks, no he knows certain people at Sorokino secretly laugh at his idealism. What was the joke again- the American dream was only real when you were dreaming? But he wanted to believe. He had to believe that they could do better, could rise what Gilead had torched to the ground.

"Hey, Steve, you alright?" Joseph steps in front of him, blocking his way.

"Yes, of course." said Steve, "What is it?"

"I know you well enough to know when you're brooding." said Joseph, "It'll be hypocritical of me tell you off, but I'd encourage you to be optimistic. I think Stark might be the final puzzle piece."

"I hope you're right." said Steve.

The plane was sitting silent on the hangar, painted with the Russian flag on its tail, the only sign of it belonging to Sorokino was the dancing polar bears on the plane doors. Curiously they weren't greeted by Hank, but as Steve peered into the window he could see a mess of brown hair slouched in the back seats.

"I guess you'll have a silent flight after all." said Joseph. "Have a safe flight Steve."

"You too." Steve said automatically, making Joseph choke back a laugh.

"Habits die hard, eh?" said Joseph, he reaches out to squeeze Steve's hand, "Whatever you read or hear in Alaska, don't think over it too much. You're not the only idealist here."


	13. Nina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we follow Nina, a normal girl on a normal day in Sorokino.

_Ninety-nine decision street  
Ninety-nine ministers meet  
To worry, worry, super scurry  
Call the troops out in a hurry_

_This is what we've waited for  
This is it, boys, this is war  
The president is on the line  
As ninety-nine red balloons go by_

_\- 99 Luftballoons Nena, 1983_

Nina's earliest memory was her proclamation at the age of five that she wanted to work at the Animal Facility of Sorokino. Her mama had nearly dropped the birthday cake she was carrying to the table, and her papa had broke into one of his, she now realizes, rare fits of laughter.

_"I knew it."_ he'd told her mama triumphantly, _"You still have the betting pool going, Magda?" _

In return, her mama had given him a friendly smack with the oven glove and an exasperated, _"You always have to make this a bet, don't you?"_

Her mama had turned to her then, smiling and said, _"Well? Are you going to make a wish?"_

She'd closed her eyes, and wished that she could grow up quickly and get to wear the shiny badges and sky colored watches of the caretakers at the Animal Facility. Her wish came true, and no surprises there, she had always gotten the best performance reviews by her teachers in anything remotely related to biology. Having her papa as one of her advocates was also a bonus, she hasn't remembered a time when he'd refuse to help her with schoolwork, even when biology was not one of his strong subjects.

Sometimes she regrets the career choice, especially now, when she's holding open the fabric bag for Mischa as the older woman efficiently shoveled out the individual cages of the hamsters.

"Nina! Please hold this bag open more- yes thanks, like that-" said Mischa.

_Matka Boska_, Nina thought, _how does one rabbit size animal produce so much stink?_

A part of her thinks that Mischa doesn't possess any olfactory cells. In all her time working there, Mischa had never once gagged at the pungency of whatever was produced by the hamsters. But that didn't make sense, did it, because Mischa's brother definitely had a talent at detecting different smells, all the teenagers loved testing his ability.

"Do you need a mask?" said Mischa, probably seeing her wrinkled nose, "It's only a quick once over, so I didn't offer, but if you need it, then there's one over there somewhere-"

The blonde gestured vaguely towards the laboratory tables.

"I'll live, thanks." said Nina, "Sorry, it just smells really bad."

"Comes with the job." replied Mischa, cheerfully, "You'll get used to it."

_No thanks._ At least there's only one more year she has left, and she can then hopefully contribute to the more interesting hibernation studies that Mischa and the other caretakers do. Helping out around Sorokino facilities with boring and smelly jobs seemed to be the default setting to weed out any uninterested parties. Two of her friends had quitted in the last three months, with both of them transferring over to the less intense Botany Facility. Joke's on them, Mischa had told her that they would still have to handle the fertilizer.

"I think we're done." said Mischa, "Great job, Nina."

The older woman steps carefully steps down the ladder where she'd been standing to clear out the cage. The cages were stacked in neat rows of four by fours around the room, utilitarian like, and as they were simulating a hibernation cycle, the cages were the minimum size necessary.

Mischa ties the cloth bag, hoisting it over her shoulder and walks over to the room's exit where she unceremoniously dumps it near the door. As she heads back she grabs one of the hand sanitizers and cleans her hands briskly. She offers the bottle to Nina, who squirts a handful into her hands, relieved that she could mask the smell.

"Is someone trying to call you?" asked Mischa, gesturing towards Nina's watch.

Nina blinked, staring at the screen. A call from Angel at this hour? She swiped at the watch face but missed the call. After a couple of seconds the watch face blinked and a message flashed across the screen.

ANGEL: you done? mind giving me a hand?

"It's Angel." said Nina, "She says she needs my help? Uh, you don't mind do you?"

Mischa laughs, "Go ahead kid, it's fine, cleaning cages isn't my favorite thing either."

It was as a clear dismissal as she could ever get from Mischa. Hopefully her lack of enthusiasm for laboratory maintenance won't be held against her during her evaluation.

"Thanks!" she said, "See you tomorrow!"

She dashes off towards the door, and fumbles with the buttons on her lab coat in the changing room just outside. Carefully hanging the coat back on her designated hook, she shoves off the lab shoes and puts on her more comfortable winter boots. Her older sister was waiting for her outside the door, her black hair in her usual high ponytail, tapping out a message on her watch.

"There you are, I thought you switched your watch off." said Angel, raising her eyes from the watch screen. "How was it?"

"Boring, like usual." said Nina, "What do you need me for?" she asked, curiously.

"Come along then," said Angel, "I'll explain as we go. Basically, I just need an extra hand." she turned to Nina and winked, "I also suspected you wanted a break from cleaning day."

"We were already done anyway." said Nina, "But thanks."

"Shame," said Angel.

  
They were moving at a brisk pace, past the Laboratory area and towards their quarters at Nasczokin. It was about to be dinner time soon, meaning most people would either be at their own family rooms or in one of the Dining Halls so Nina didn't expect to see any of her classmates. A bit disappointing, she'd wanted to know how they'd done on their recent exams. She's lucky Mischa was the type that believed in evaluated reports and a final supervised exam.

"How's your project going?" she asked.

For the past two months, Angel's facility had been busy. She'd been elusive every time Nina had asked her about her sudden increase in work hours when they were together, but when her papa had nodded and given a shrugged go-ahead at the dining table when she'd pestered, Angel had relented.

_"It's nothing much really."_ Angel had said, _"Pretty unimaginative to be honest. We're working on recreating some Gilead clothing."_

_"Really?" _

_"The designs are so boring." _Angel had continued, _"You'd think they shot-"_ here she glanced at her papa, and paused, _"they got no inspiration, Gilead. Boring shades of grey, blue, green, and red."_

_"What for?"_ Nina had asked, _"Why do you need to recreate it? Is it for practice?"_

Angel had burst into laughter at her question, and even her papa cracked a smile, a rare sight now. Nina thinks that he'd smiled less since her mama moved out.

_"Spies need clothing to blend in Nina." _her father had said, and shook his head, putting a finger to his lips to stop more questions.

A part of her was upset at that, because he'd always answered any question she had, but she'd come to realize that Sorokino and her residents were full of secrets and sometimes it's best not to push. Secrets made things interesting, after all, like the hibernation patterns being studied at the Animal Facility.

"It's going great actually." said Angel, "We got a couple of updated pictures from Japanese tourists and that's been really helpful with some details."

"Cool." said Nina, nodding along. "So what do you need my help for again?"

"Didn't you hear the gossip from the boys?" asked Angel, puzzled, "I though you'd known why they weren't at home last night, they were seeing Hank off."

Now that Angel mentioned it, Sean, Darwin and Armando weren't at home, and she vaguely remembered them saying something about an Alaskan flight.

"Oh, right, are we getting another visitor?" she said, brightly, "That'll be interesting."

"Temporary." said Angel, "I think." she paused, frowning, "I'm curious about this one, cause Erik asked me especially to get his quarters ready."

"That's strange." said Nina, "Papa's never shown any interest in visitors."

"He told me to keep an eye on this one especially." said Angel, holding out her watch face to the door to Nasczokin as they approached. It beeped, unlocking and she pushed it open, waving Nina in.

"Right." said Angel, "So the clean laundry should be around here somewhere, unless Darwin didn't do them."

They found the clean laundry cart pushed haphazardly in a corner near the cupboards with a scribbled note on top saying _Clean_ in Darwin's messy handwriting.

"Nice of him to label it." said Angel, wrinkling her nose at the way the sheets were haphazardly tossed into the cart. "C'mon then, help me put the sheets in the cupboards and take the cart- that'll help carry the bedding."

Angel gave a visible groan of frustration when the cupboard swung open and what seemed like two weeks' worth of clean laundry was sitting unsorted, shoved into various shelves.

"I knew those boys couldn't be trusted." she scowled irritably, "Is it really that difficult? Sheets on the top, pillowcases below and bedding at the bottom."

"You sound like papa." said Nina, "I think you should cut them some slack, they've just finish the exam season."

"Doesn't excuse being total failures at laundry." said Angel, "Do you mind loading the cart, I'll try to fix this."

Being the tidy-fairy that she is, her sister began to put things into order. Nina thinks that sometimes her papa wishes both of them could join him at his rather chaotic workshop, especially Angel with her knack for organizing, really, has there been a schedule or a room that she hadn't put to rights? Papa definitely spent too much time telling off his students for being complete slobs, according to Sean, the only one out her siblings to show an interest in aeronautics.

"So where are you putting him?" said Nina, loading the cart with clean bedding and two sets of everything. She hesitates and decides to put one of her gran's quilt in too.

Angel raised an eyebrow at this, having manage to wrangle the closet into some sort of order, "You sure about that?"

"I dunno, I thought it'll make the room look nicer?" said Nina, "You think papa would mind?"

"Best not to." said Angel, "He seems suspicious of this one already."

"Alright." said Nina, putting the quilt back into its proper place, "Where are we headed then?"

"Forum One." replied Angel, "I suppose they're just going to squeeze him into one of the visitors' rooms until he's verified."

"I never liked those rooms." said Nina, "You hear all sorts of noises, it's too close to camping outside."

"It weeds out the competition." jokes Angel, "If you don't leave, you'll be really committed for a change after a couple of nights there."

"You've never spent a night there, how'd you know?" said Nina.

"That's because I red-ticketed my way right here." said Angel, holding her hand to her heart dramatically and singing, "O Nasczokin, my Nasczokin!"

The two shared a laugh at the bad rendition. The song never took off, to the annoyance of the Nasczokin Community Director. Satisfied with the state of the newly organized closet, Angel gestured for her to wheel the cart out, and they headed back towards the direction of the laboratory, but instead of going right at the mural showing different extinct species, they went left, towards Forum One.

"So who's the person coming in?" asked Nina curiously, "Do you know?"

"Nope." said Angel, "But he's one of those consultants."

From experience, Nina knew that consultants were the blanket term for visitors at Sorokino. They didn't give their real names- it was explicitly rude and forbidden to ask, which was a shame, because she'd really want to know why her papa took an interest in this one. Maybe he was an aeronautics specialist.

The visitors' room were on top of Forum One, which meant they had to steer the cart into the room and pass the rows and rows of seats arranged like a lecture hall. Nina's only time here was sitting for her graduating exam, and she knew that behind the rows of seat was a slightly hidden panel which had stairs leading to the visitors' rooms. Before the rooms were built though, the rumor among her friends was that the panel was filled with cameras to watch for cheaters.

They left the cart at the bottom of the stairs and began climbing up, Angel holding the bedding, she the rest. Her sister stopped at the second room on the right, using a keycard this time, to open the door. It opened, revealing a bed, a shelf with a built in pull out table, and nothing else.

"I can take it from here," Angel offered, "thanks for giving me a hand."

"No problem." said Nina, "I'm eating at Dining Hall Three today, don't wait up."

"Alright, see you later." said Angel, already getting busy with making the guest bed.

Technically Nasczokin members were supposed to eat at Dining Hall Two, just for logistic reasons, but the directors had relented to a long campaign by the Sorokino teenagers- or _young adults_\- to have their own Dining Hall. The location itself was a bonus, it was far away enough from the Forums and living quarters, but somehow still centrally located. There were some conditions though, that the Dining Hall be kept clean, no alcohol and adult supervision in the kitchen. That part wasn't fun, considering the adult supervision consisted of all the nosy grandmothers Sorokino had to offer, but then again, the trade off was the cakes and cookies. It was definitely on the smaller size, Dining Hall Three, but after some effort, it's been made cozy. There was a clear dining area, benches and long tables, similar to the other Dining Halls. They've cleared a spot for a stage, some speakers and a comfortable lounge with feather stuffed sofas, beanbags and small coffee tables. The sofa area was first come, first serve, so she hoped that at least one of her siblings claimed the space today.

The Dining Hall was already filled when she came in, with the benches and tables filled with chatter and clinking cutlery. From the many conversations she could hear in French- not the usual language of choice- as she headed to the corner her siblings preferred, Monsieur Dernier's exam must be coming up. She saw them soon enough, Sean's curly hair sticking out from the back of his sofa miles away. Darwin was sitting in an armchair in the corner, drilling Scott with some flashcards. The confusion and concentration on Scott's face must meant that it was French, his most hated subject. Next to him, sitting on the carpet was Armando, talking to his friends, Sana and Kitty, no doubt bragging about his stellar academics. Seeing her, Sean waved, and motioned her over.

"You're a lucky woman," he said, as a greeting, "The exams were bloody miserable, I can't imagine a worst series of questions- Darwin over there's just lovin' it, he had a great time with chemistry-"

Nina took a seat next to him and took a sandwich from a tray on the tea table. It was chicken, mustard and salad, definitely not a bad choice. She'd have to make note of who was cooking today.

"You're just jealous you should've gone into the Animal Facility." she replied, mouth half full, "I don't have to take any exams at all."

"I said the exam sucked and Erik said if you can't do math then get out of my workshop." said Sean, cracking his knuckles, "I just want to fly airplanes, c'mon is that a hard thing to ask?"

"You can't just commandeer an airplane and fly off with it." said Darwin, pausing Scott's drills.

"Hey! Don't stop!" Scott exclaimed, "We never did the final review! Monsieur Dernier got distracted-"

"Oh really?" asked Armando, sarcastically, "That's a first. What'd he go off on now?"

"Didn't you read the news?" said Kitty, frowning, "This morning, it's a really big deal- it's a bombing in the US rebel area."

"Oh?" said Nina, remembering her watch beeping something that morning, "I think there was something this morning, but isn't that a thing in the US rebel area?"

"Well, yeah." said Kitty, "It's normal. But the place they did it isn't."

"So they bombed a mountain, blah blah, I heard this already this morning-" said Scott, "Are you going to help me Darwin, I really need a pass-"

"Which mountain?" said Armando.

"Mount Rushmore." said Kitty, exasperate, "You know, the one with the faces! You really ought to keep yourself updated."

"So what?" said Scott, "Gilead already bombed a couple of places, what's the difference?"

"Well it wasn't Gilead, dummy." said Kitty, "It was the Indians- I mean- the Sioux? And they did it to tell the US off for doing nothing."

"So?" said Scott, puzzled, "The IF also bombed things too, didn't do much to stop Gilead, did it?"

Sana who was normally silent spoke up.

"It is a big deal." she said, in her accented English, "It's a-" she paused, frowning, "What's the word- sovereignty. They want sovereignty."

"Spoken like a true student of Monsieur Charles." said Armando, "So what's the big deal then? Texas raised its own flag a while back."

"Yes." agreed Sana, "But Texas is Texas, this is different. Canada may not like this."

"What's Canada got to do with this?" said Sean, jumping in.

"Dernier said that this might catch on in Canada," said Scott, "Cause they got angry natives up there too."

"Well, " said Armando, lost for words, "that sounds bad."

"So," Nina hesitated, changing the topic, "How was everyone's exams?"

"It was brilliant." said Armando, "D'you know, it was-"

The talk of the Rushmore bombing died down after that. Darwin returned to drilling Scott on his French, the other two girls waving them good-night and returning to their living quarters. Nina couldn't help the nagging voice in her head, though, when she put the food tray back and headed home.

_Is it bad that we're not doing much in Sorokino to help?_

Papa, as usual, was up late, staring intensely at an airplane schematic on the kitchen table, turning a coin over and over in his left palm. From the corner of her eye she could see four or five discarded drawings were scattered on the table. He turns his head when the door opens, giving her a half smile.

  
"Evening, Nina." he said, "Angel told me your Animal Facility training's going well."

"She would." said Nina, "I think it is?"

"Don't worry about it." her papa said, reassuringly, "Mischa would miss out, if you leave."

For a moment, she had a ridiculous image of her papa threatening Mischa with the lives of one of her precious hamsters- if his daughter wasn't given a pass. It wouldn't happen, even Sean couldn't count on favoritism, and sometimes she thinks Sean's his favorite because they spend so much time holed up in the workshop.

"I guess the boys are still out partying?" he asked her, looking amused, "Celebrating their chickens before they hatch?"

"I don't think anyone failed." Nina said, "They were very confident." she glanced over at his schematic, "Wait- is that the same one?"

"Yes." he said, "Airplanes are quite difficult, and more so if you put limit on your materials and builders."

"You shouldn't stay up so late." she admonishes, to his amusement, "It's bad."

"Oh woe be the day." he said, rolling his eyes, "You know I used to beg and plea for you to sleep and now look how the tables turned." he reaches out and ruffles her hair affectionately, "I'll only be at this for a bit more. Good night."

He definitely was not at this for a bit more because Nina found him the next day sleeping with his head on the table and more penciled scribbles on the schematic. One of her brothers had thoughtfully draped a quilt over his shoulders.

_Must be one big project he's working on. I wonder what it is? _


	14. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony does a database search, and makes his decision.

_And in the streets, the children screamed  
The lovers cried and the poets dreamed  
But not a word was spoken  
The church bells all were broken  
  
And the three men I admire most  
The Father, Son and the Holy Ghost  
They caught the last train for the coast  
The day the music died_

_\- American Pie, Don McLean_

By the time Tony made it back to his matchbox size flat it was already late evening. It was one of those hastily constructed housing, skimping on as much material as possible which meant that everyone could hear everyone; walking, arguing, laughing, crying, flushing, the whole spectrum of human functions. Five years before Tony would've laughed himself silly if someone even suggested he would miss the rare father son camping trips he took with dearly departed Howard. He missed it with a deep sincerity now, at least there they had a fully stocked cabin and silence.

He's probably not high on the government watch list, if they'd dumped him in this place. _What was that the kid said- we'll only turn this phone on for five minutes? How paranoid was this organization?_

To be fair, he was paranoid with company secrets, something taught from the Stark cradle, most likely. He pats his pocket where the paper they've given him was still there and he pulls it out, sitting on the single bed.

He thinks he can see the faces behind the signatures of M Smith, T Burton, C Preston, K Robbins, A Mckenzie and... V Potts. _Were they desperate? Were they hopeful that a fragile paper would be able to bring hope? Or closure?_ Some people he knew, had given up entirely on finding their family members, specifically if the last confirmed location of said family member was in the locations that Gilead had claimed to be _sanctified_. The Alaskan government had their specific database for this, naming it the inanely bureaucratic, Family Unification Center. F-U-C sounds about right, for all the unification that has happened since its conception.

The last time he'd spoken to Pepper, he'd told her to go to the family cabin. Howard had built a hidden, furnished bunker underneath and he was certain that they'd be safe until the dust cleared. Back then, he'd thought that they'd be able to take a flight safely from the Georgian airport, and he'll be able to see them after a couple of sleepless days.

_"We're going- love you- say 'bye to daddy Morgan" _she had said, her voice garbled through the shaky connection.

_"'bye daddy! love-"_

The connection had dropped then. He hopes that it was because they were deep into the woods and safe, but anything could have happened. This tiny paper was the only fleeting proof he had that his family was still alive and not a series of pixels on his shattered phone screen. But enough with thinking about the past, he wants to know the faces behind the signatures.

He pulls out his computer from underneath his pillow and boots it up. Each person in Alaska has a government issued username and password to access the Intranet, not that there was much too see. He taps the spacebar reflexively as the computer loads, and hesitating, decided on not using his own username when prompted by the Intranet.

username: jason_carlson

password: NrAlB315#13545!

Hopefully Jason from room 315 wouldn’t be too troubled by him borrowing the login. The Intranet was unusually fast today, because it only took a couple of minutes for the computer to blink the customary,

LOGIN SUCCESSFUL

There was only three possible choices after that, with the explanation given to being that it was to prevent Gilead infiltration.

NEWS

EMAIL

FAMILY REUNIFICATION CENTER

Tony thinks it's probably to monitor whatever scraps is given to the people, anything ranging from a successful victory or a tearful reunification story. Neither of them were true, but in the bleakness of the Alaskan winter, was it any surprise that people clung to a carefully curated story?

He clicks on the FAMLY REUNICATION CENTER button and was greeted by the familiar search categories, preface with the usual government cautions:

When listing a missing loved one, please keep your personal information to an absolute minimum. Any information which can put your loved one in danger should be avoided, this may include the following: marital history, religious identity, unconventional lifestyles and jobs, and sexual identity. Please keep this in mind when submitting photos.

FIRST NAME

LAST NAME

LAST KNOWN LOCATION

The day that they'd given him access to the Intranet he'd immediately updated it with Pepper and Morgan's last known location, not too specific, as he was cautioned. Gilead spies might be able to use the information, they were told. He puts in the first signature on the list, M Smith, and types in GEORGIA. If Pepper had been successful, then most likely, they would be there.

Unsurprisingly, there were many M. Smiths, but he narrows in on the a specific name and location, shaking his head at his stupidity for not doing it in the beginning.

Mark SMITH was born on 14 April 2018, a chemistry professor at the University of Georgia. He is married to Lily Cole, who is currently safe with family members in Ireland. His last known location was FAIRBURN, GEORGIA.

Underneath the brief description was a picture of the professor and his wife, in happier times, Tony thinks. The middle age couple were on a boat, and his brown hair wife, hair not yet graying was waving at the photographer. The next name, specific to Fairburn bought up a Thomas Burton.

Thomas BURTON was born on 26 Nov 2036, a factory worker at Smyrna. His parents are waiting for him in Canada. His last known location was FAIRBURN, GEORGIA.

Thomas's picture showed a man in his early twenties, beaming, in his graduation cap and gown, arms around an older woman and man. _It must've been one of the pictures Thomas's parents managed to save, if this was the one they've chosen. _

The next name he typed in, C. Preston, was smiling black woman with a terrier, sitting on a park bench. The description read simply;

Christina PRESTON was born on 8 Jun 2047, a nurse at Monroe County Hospital. Her sister asks that anyone having information on Christina, to please contact nearest Kingdom of England and Wales embassy. Her last known location was FAIRBURN, GEORGIA.

_Her sister in England huh? _It didn't take much of a genius to figure out hidden meanings behind the post. From what he knew, social media websites had been rendered obsolete by Gilead in targeted bombings, and there were confirmed attempts to delete everyone's history in order to protect them from persecution by the newly formed theocracy. Nevertheless, the U.S. government issued warnings and cautions against advertising _unconventional lifestyles and identities_, which lead to odd phrasings like this one. If it truly was a sister looking for Christina, she would have simply put _family_ or listed her name, like Thomas's parents and Mark's wife. It was one of those unspoken rules to people using the FUC database.

The search for K Robbins turned up a broad shoulder man in glasses, sitting in what looked to be a café with two other people cut out of the picture. The description read;

Kyle ROBBINS was born on 12 Mar 2038, a Ph.D. graduate at the University of Georgia. His parents and brother are confirmed victims of Gilead bombings in Atlanta. University colleague Yana Siegel has his family's last possessions and can be reached by contacting the American consulate. He was last seen at FAIRBURN, GEORGIA.

Again, the odd extra detail of university colleague. _Poor Yana, must've been the one to report the deaths_. Tony guesses that she must be Kyle's girlfriend. The next entry wasn't any more cheerful, reading that;

Allison MCKENZIE was born on 9 Jan 2033, a teacher at Clairemont Elementary School. Her husband is a confirmed victim of the Gilead bombings in Atlanta. Family friends would like to inform her that her daughter is safe with them in Canada and to contact the Canadian consulate. She was last seen in FAIRBURN, GEORGIA.

In Allison's case, it would seem, the family friends had deliberately kept their names and her daughter's name from the FUC database. It's probably the best, Gilead has been known to pursue parental rights cases of children whose parents are confirmed missing or dead but have somehow been smuggled out of the country.

At least Morgan had Pepper, if they were still safe in Howard's paranoid bunker of doom. There's a drink he ought to toast or pour to the old man. He would never have thought his family would end up there.

_Guess they weren't yanking my leg then. I guess I'm in._

If he'd been the hotshot company owner he was before the world went mad, he would've stayed up all night thinking about ways to rescue his family, or what the secret group wanted from him. As it is, he was exhausted, the tiny flicker of relief was extinguished by looking, or more accurately, spying on the owners of the signatures.

He falls asleep, after what seemed like hours of tossing and turning, seeing the faces of Allison, Kyle, Christina, Thomas and Mark, intermixed with Pepper and Morgan every time he tried closing his eyes.


	15. Sorokino Symposium, Day 2: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Symposium on the 57 Years' War in the Former Republic of Gilead
> 
> University of Sorokino
> 
> Sorokino, Pan-Slavic Federation
> 
> September 22, 2215

ALEKSANDR SOROKIN:  
Welcome back friends and colleagues, to the second day of our symposium. I hoped you all found your way back safely to your hostels last night.

(Laughter) 

The agenda of today's meeting, for the audience following us, involves the lives of the children in Sorokino during the Gilead years. I mentioned yesterday our archives were opened, and we will discuss selected findings. This will be divided into pre, peri and post-Gilead. 

However as promised, I will start the symposium by answering questions posed to us by the audience. I was told by my assistant that there were many more questions than expected submitted last night. As such, we were selective in our choices. If your questions was not answered this morning, it is likely we will come back to it. I am pleased to note that the random username generator has created less of a workload for my students- no more filtering of interesting choices in usernames. 

(Laughter)

May I now introduce my student Ms. Sokoloa, to the stage- she has curated all the questions this morning. Good practice for the future, I hope?

(Laughter)

ARINA SOKOLOA:

Thank you Professor, for you introduction. I've arranged the questions according to speaker order yesterday, for easier reference in the future. For the audience that would be Prof Sorokin, Prof Floyd, Prof Belova and Prof Blanchet. Our apologies for not updating your titles on the cards and in the introductory session. 

The first question is in regards to your introduction, submitted by owl_moscow. Their question is: I think my grandpa was a child here and I connected yesterday, but nothing was said about it- how do I find out more if he was here? 

ALEKSANDR SOROKIN:

An interesting question, this will be answered today, any more and we will spoil today's discussion. What I can say is after this session we will provide resources for how you can discover if your grandfather was here. 

ARINA SOKOLOA: 

The next question comes from belfast_cross, they ask: what problem did you have with the Twelfth Symposium on Gileadean Studies? 

ALEKSANDR SOROKIN:

Ah yes, I know that would be asked. For clarification Arina, can I ask if this question was in English?

ARINA SOKOLOA: 

Yes. 

ALEKSANDR SOROKIN:

If that's the case, I suggest a book by the English historian Elena Cooper called Gilead: the Missing Voices. The book does a good job of summarizing my problems for a general audience. If this is not a general audience question- I don't want to take up more than the allotted time - let me say briefly that the Reconciliation after the Fifty Seven Years' war did not go well. A comparative event in United States history would be the Reconstruction after the Civil War. The Reconciliation was the attempt of the government of the former United States in Alaska and Hawaii to make peace with certain Gilead leaders, in order to reunite the fractured United States. However, as you can imagine, this did not go smoothly. Too many power struggles were had, which resulted in the assassination, imprisonment and exile of various fraction leaders- within the U.S. government and former. 

Of course, certain Commanders were imprisoned, but judges, police officers- Eyes they call them, and other law enforcement of Gilead were given a clean uniform and a U.S. passport. Why, you may ask? Well, after fifty seven years of war there was a severe workforce shortage, government and private sectors, and if we are being honest, who would willingly immigrate to the United States at the time? All of this lead to a Reconciliation government that was steeped in old Gileadean ways. I ask you to think- would a Gileadean judge keep their own prejudices in check during a case? Would an Gileadean Eye hold no racial bias when arresting citizens? 

That is only their day to day job, what of their accounts and recordings of the events in Gileadean history? These recordings are what the historians at the Twelfth Symposium based their academic studies on, I may add. 

From a research perspective, one such disagreement I have involves the accounts of Commander Peter Hensler, regarding his victories in the battles against the Iron Front being taken as fact by military historians in the Twelve Symposium. It is interesting, because if one looks at what his contemporaries said of him, Hensler was notoriously incompetent. It is suggested that he took others' victories as his own, especially those of Commander Alexander Pierce. It is not just Hensler's accounts that made it into written history. Many such testimonies were taken as fact, disregarding the history of the individuals in question. This lead to a glorification of Gileadean leaders which, troublingly, continues to this day. Why were the testimonies of surviving Iron Front leaders and members not taken to account, one asks? Well, the short and simple explanation is that their ideologies were not deemed compatible with the Reconciliation's government. 

Another example, would be the Ba'al Purge, which according to Professor Pieixoto, bless him, was started by a release of information from a microdot. This was the more recent Thirteenth Symposium, not the Twelfth one mind you, but I nevertheless question his reasoning that the information released in this would have trigger such a, I quote "civil strife and chaos". Much bigger whistleblowers through out history has not caused such tremble in the world, such as the data released by twentieth century Edward Snowden. One doubts that data regarding backstabbing Commanders, incest, pedophilia and such other morality crimes released by an Aunt, no matter how high, would cause them to thin their own already small herd. It is certainly not the first attempt to sow discord within the Gileadean upper echelons- take the failed Project Sparrow by the remnants of the U.S. CIA for example. This and various other defamation attempts from the other side only emboldened the Gilead elite to, I use the phrase circle the wagons.

I have my own suspicions on what caused this particular purge- though if I'm being honest, there were many purges in Gilead-

(Laugher)

I will discuss my theories tomorrow, where we discuss Project Mary in more detail. Please, Arina, the next question.

ARINA SOKOLOA:   
I think you just guessed the next question- we had multiple submissions of this one - so should you answer? Everyone wants to know what Project Mary is. 

ALEKSANDR SOROKIN:  
I think, if I were to answer it now, it would be, hmm, what is the twentieth century word, a spoiler? For the curious, I would recommend a closer look at the plane model that Serafina mentioned in her lecture yesterday. I think she gave a much bigger hint than I would have. If you are more interested, I would suggest looking into the family history of Alexander Pierce, if there is anything to find, I was told his records were personally destroyed by fellow Commanders after he was purged. 

ARINA SOKOLOA:  
Thank you for your answer, professor. I think the next question is for professor Nathaniel Floyd- professor, do you mind coming up to the stage- thank you. The question is from PanikHarpist - What does AVV-4 stand for? 

NATHANIEL FLOYD:  
A technical question? To start with? That is very unusual for a morning lecture.   
(Laugher)  
But sure, I will answer. The 4 is the strain number, coincidentally associated with bad luck and death in Eastern Asian cultures- AVV stands for Adeno viral virus. 

ARINA SOKOLOA:  
The next question is from CowPines, again, relating to the AVV-4 virus, the question is- if you were living in that time, what are the chances of you contacting the virus, and how would you know you have it?

NATHANIEL FLOYD:  
Oh that's an interesting question. Whether or not you contact it depends on your geographical location. I would say with relative certainty that if you had lived anywhere south of the equator would be safe from the virus. Of course, that would mean you didn't interact with anyone travelling to your area from an infected zone. What you would be more concerned about, I imagine, would be the extreme weather conditions such as wildfires, droughts and hurricanes. If you are living above the equator, again, where you live certainly plays a factor. Anywhere there could be melting ice, the tundra, for example, would mean a higher chance of being infected. The AVV-4 does not really show any symptoms so it is highly unlikely you would even know that you were infected. Perhaps if you were rich enough to afford a broader diagnosis, this could have been caught, but again, the majority of doctors at the time misdiagnosed AVV-4 as the R-strain syphilis. Next question? 

ARINA SOKOLOA:   
plumpkoala asks you to please explain what you meant by inflammatory articles.

NATHANIEL FLOYD:  
Right, right, inflammatory articles. Well I can say, thanks to the Digital Black Hole, the majority of the online articles cannot be easily found, however, what can be recovered is covered in a book by Stuart Palomer, called AVV-4 and Journalism: Lessons from the Void. It is from a journalistic perspective, and talks about to a variety of factors which lead news outlet to outbid each other in sensationalistic titles. From a scientific perspective, if one is interested, I mentioned before, the AVV-4 virus stands for adeno. While not related to the AAV- that stands for the adeno associated virus family, there were misconceptions of the time that it was, by the press. It didn't help that the AAV strains are often use for human clinical trials for gene therapy and the like. An easily confused name added more fuel to the fire, and I believe Palomer wrote that a newspaper title from the day was something along the lines of "AAV- the Government population control project on citizens?". This of course was not true, but all things considered, is it not a surprise that people were driven to a frenzy of fear? 

Are there any more questions?

ARINA SOKOLOA: 

Yes, but the next ones refer to professor. Belova's slides. Professor Belova? If you don't mind coming to the front? 

SERAFINA BELOVA:

Not a problem, I am dressed for the occasion. 

(Laughter)

What is the question?

ARINA SOKOLOA: 

From crispychocolate: how did adoption process work - what coded language? 

SERAFINA BELOVA:

Right. That is a rather broad question- no specifications?

ARINA SOKOLOA: 

No that's all we have. I think the question is about adoption of refugee children general.

SERAFINA BELOVA:

I will try to answer it as best I can, but I am only very familiar with the Russian process, in particular the one in Sorkino. I assume it is the same for other countries, but this is a big assumption to make. There are three definite changes in adoption procedures throughout the Gilead timespan, like Aleksandr mentioned- pre, peri and post. 

I should mention that the majority of refugee children at were accompanied by their parents, so the overwhelming majority of child refugees were accompanied minors. The first wave, so to speak, were families with the foresight to flee the United States before Gilead rose to power. This followed the normal immigration process. Prior to Gilead, any couple, to be more specific, at least one of them had to be under menopausal years, who could prove that they were able to conceive were given immigration permits. This proof is usually a living dependent child, or a positive pregnancy test admitted at the embassy. With regards to the child, if the child is older but the couple could still theoretically carry to term another, they were approved. This would also be the case for single parents, and there was a strong push, I dare say, coercion, for them to have more children. By coercion, I mean, single parents with children were often given apartments together and encouraged to establish a new family and more children. 

Now regarding unaccompanied children, pre Gilead, the children that could be issued immigration papers easily were those that were in the foster care system, specifically those with no familial ties. Based on the records we have, there is a strong correlation of age, the younger the better, and characteristics, with the majority of adoptive parents preferring children who looked similar to them, with whether or not the child was adopted immediately upon entry. 

It must be stressed that there was a definite racial bias in the adoption of children, from both sides. Pre- and, oddly enough, peri-Gilead were more than willing to let or should I say, turn a blind eye to non Caucasian children leaving their borders. A Caucasian child being smuggled out and adopted however, well, one only needs to look at the Baby Nichole debacle. In Russia, like I mentioned earlier, adoptive parents preferred children who looked like them, though when the atrocities of Gilead were revealed potential parents were more willing to open their doors. 

When the United States government was toppled, this lead to a floodgate of refugees. You can imagine, the newly formed Gilead tried its best to keep fertile couples- to be more specific, Caucasian couples within its borders. This is what I mentioned yesterday, people who could prove they were married to international spouses had more of a leeway to leave. This loophole was closed very quickly, unfortunately. I will send you relevant documents regarding the closing of this loophole, Arina, to upload later for the viewers to see. 

Where was I? Right, now, families that wanted to leave together was nearly impossible. This is when we see the increase in unaccompanied minors arriving to foreign countries, the process is similar to that of kindertransport in 1938. The Gileadean government also put a stop to this, like they did with the spousal visa, though, I have to stress, they were willing to turn a blind eye to non-Caucasian children leaving their borders. 

Post Gilead is a entirely different matter, and yes, sorry, due to time, I think I will address this latter in the Symposium. In regards to the coded language, please remind me, I will also address this too.

ARINA SOKOLOA: 

Thank you for your answer, the next question is from MastadonRiver, why is twenty children a statistical abnormality? the man could be a sperm donor. 

SERAFINA BELOVA:

That is a possibility! It is true that in Russia, at the time, if a man is fertile then the government gives very, very strong incentives for that man to donate his sperm. However, because the man comes from Sorokino, things work a little bit differently there. Due to the relatively small population and thus the need to keep genealogical records to prevent incest, there is an unspoken limit on the number of children a man will have. In addition, the Sorokino way was more of an friendly negotiation of two parties, where a couple will approach a fertile man. We've looked at the familial records for that time and on the higher average, a fertile man in Sorokino would have only five or six children. Twenty children, from the knowledge that we have of Sorokino would be implausible, and my colleagues and I suspect that this was a deliberate obscuring of the records. In retrospect perhaps I should have chosen a different adoption paper. But E. Lensherr has a very interesting history relating to Project Mary which is why I picked his records to show. 

ARINA SOKOLOA: 

The next question from BambooBolts, how did the coordination work? Was it just in Sorokino or was it also Russia as well?

SERAFINA BELOVA:

Right, so, to answer this, let me give you a brief a brief primer on Sorokino's history at the time of the crisis. As you all know, Sorokino is now home to a very prestigious university and my esteemed colleagues. However, Sorokino back then saddled the line between legality and hmm, shall I say, illegal activities. If there's interest I will go into their activities in a later session.

I mentioned the mines yesterday- or if I didn't I will mention them now. Sorokino's mountains and surrounding territories was rich- now not so much-

(Laughter) 

in a specific mineral which was crucial in weapons manufacturing. Once this mineral was discovered, various interest groups showed up to mine this new oil, one can say. Sorokino was lucky in that one, its residents were able to consolidate power and manufacturing, and two, the quality of their export was exceptional. As such, the Russian government of the time turned a blind eye on activities taken by the residents of Sorokino. One of these activities being the forging of documents, and these documents were crucial to the refugees fleeing Gilead, with many of them having a stop over in Sorokino, on the pretense of being educated workers or experts- we can see this from visas issued at the time- before being sent off elsewhere with government issued paperwork of the relevant countries.

In fact, as Gilead established itself, the Russian government turned to Sorokino for advice regarding the handling of refugees. So yes, coordination was handled by a mixture of people, and to say only Sorokino was responsible would not be the truth. 

ARINA SOKOLOA: 

Final question, from RainyAdvocado, what's with the bears? I think, they meant to ask about the bears in your slides?

SERAFINA BELOVA:

Well, to be more specific, Sorokino has always have a fondness for polar bears, not just any other bears. Regarding the picture, we don't have them around here anymore, so you won't see them, sadly. The climate has stabilized enough that the bear population has gone back to the colder Artic North.

Prior to that however, the climate catastrophe of the 2020s and before caused them to move south, exactly where we stand today. I believe they had a symbiotic relationship with the people living there at the time. Not today, unfortunately!

(Laughter) 

Why is this so? Well, the bears provided a modicum of defense, and the people gave them food and some shelter. I believe studies were also conducted at the time on their hibernation patterns by the biologists at Sorokino, so their presence was encouraged. Some of them were even tamed to a degree. 

ARINA SOKOLOA: 

Thank you for your answers, professor. The next series of questions are directed at professor Blanchet, please, can you come to the stage?

DENI BLANCHET: 

Of course!

ARINA SOKOLOA: 

First question, from FirePen, who is Monsieur Dernier, where can I find information on him?

DENI BLANCHET: 

Like I said, before, Monsieur Dernier's belongings were donated to us by his family who currently wishes to remain anonymous. This is why I did not mention his first name, and I wish to honor the family's request to remain anonymous. From what my colleagues and I have gathered from his computer, he graduated with a masters degree in chemistry. How he managed to come to Sorokino to teach French from then is a mystery, but one can assume he has a rather interesting life. France was undergoing a political revolution at the time, and from what we can examine of the donated belongings, Dernier would have embrace it whole heartedly. I would suggest a book called To Carry On: The Story of French Activists during the Second American Civil War by Bernard Favre, for general information on people like Dernier. I hope that is a suitable answer. 

ARINA SOKOLOA: 

The next question from, AuroraRabbit, regarding the memes, are they language specific and did you have to translate them?

DENI BLANCHET:

Yes, interesting question that, my team assumed the audience of our conference would be English, so we translated accordingly. The originals were in French, and it is definitely not native French. It is not surprising, I assume these were from Monsieur Dernier's students. 

ARINA SOKOLOA: 

For the sake of time, the final question from HeartSparrow, are there any favorites memes you didn't bring to the conference and will you present more?

DENI BLANCHET:

Oh, plenty! I will present some actually, today. There were plenty to sort from, like you mentioned, language specific and culture specific. Sorokino's official language, I believe at the time was Russian, and from what I understand, the teenagers at Sorokino developed a rudimentary international auxiliary language. I found some of the memes in this format, though they had French translations attached. 

ALEKSANDR SOROKIN:

If that's all, may I now present the second day of the Sorokino Symposium?

(Applause)


	16. Sorokino Symposium, Day 2: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Symposium on the 57 Years' War in the Former Republic of Gilead
> 
> University of Sorokino
> 
> Sorokino, Pan-Slavic Federation
> 
> September 22, 2215

ALEKSANDR SOROKIN:  
As promised, we will begin the lecture on the lives of the children in Sorokino, to be more specific, the many refugees children living in Sorokino during this time. I mentioned before on the first day and on the information pamphlets that the Sorokino archives were opened for the first time to the general public today. I want to clarify, this is in reference to our activities during the Fifty Seven Years' War. My predecessor and the ones before her, respected the decision of whichever historian that decided to seal the vault. We have only opened it as recent events, as you all know, the discovery of the message by the International Space Station. 

What we found in the vault were a series of static photographs, letters and other small memorabilia. No digital items, interestingly enough. They have been arranged in chronological order, thus, my speculation that it was a historian who arranged this. After some consideration, my colleagues and I have selected several works to be presented here, as it pertains to the lives of the refugee children in Gilead. The others will be scanned and available for public view on the Intranet soon. 

I would like to start with the notes written by child psychologist Dr. Tomas Lecter on his patients. Why Dr. Lecter? After much consultation with my colleagues we have concluded that he kept the most extensive records on the children, going so far as to draw family trees. Of course, you are free to read this afterwards. As psychology is a field I am an expertise in, and his notes are very detailed in this. I will highlight the parts important to the symposium Dr. Lecter mentioned in his notes. Arina, will you please read allowed the highlighted parts? They are also accompanied with the pictures Dr. Lecter mentioned.

ARINA SOKOLOA:  
Of course, professor. 

ALEKSANDR SOROKIN:  
Right, so the first part I'd like to mention was the following passage. Recall what my colleague said yesterday about child refugees coming to Gilead. 

ARINA SOKOLOA:  
The art I presented here are of the child refugees during the start of Gilead.

ALEKSANDR SOROKIN:  
As you can see this is one evidential proof that children did come to Sorokino. I must admit the bear reminds me of something I would draw as a child. My students can safely say that my skills have not improved since.

(Laughter)

ALEKSANDR SOROKIN:  
The next passage concerns the Sorokino response to the children. While child refugees were encouraged to integrate, and possibly take Russian nationality, in Sorokino this is what Dr. Lecter writes. 

ARINA SOKOLOA:  
I would like to note that when the children came to Sorokino, the general consensus was that they would be reunited with their families. However as the war goes on this plan proved to be implausible.

ALEKSANDR SOROKIN:  
The next excerpt explains what happened to the children when Sorokino was evacuated on government orders prior to the Russo-Gileadean War. The plan Dr. Lecter mentions will be discussed tomorrow, but in Dr. Lecter's words-

ARINA SOKOLOA:  
As of writing the plan was a success, and we have reunited some of the children in Sorokino with their parents, though for the children who are now adults, they were offered the choice of reunification. 

ALEKSANDR SOROKIN:  
What he means by this is illustrated by these letters we have sorted through in the vault. To give a brief explanation of what I will show you, these letters are from the pilots that flew in the disastrous Colorado Defense launched by what remained of United States air force and international volunteers. I believe some referred to them as the Twenty Minutemen. Will you bring up the first letter, Arina? As you can see, it is written by a former child refugee here, note the references to Sorokino and the Nasczokin flower. Nasczokin used to be former settlement, now it is our botany wing in Sorokino. We found that his name was listed in Dr. Lecter's notes as Sean Cassidy, though he signed his name off here as Sean Lehnsherr. I assumed that this was a homage to his adopted father. This brings me back to what Dr. Lecter mentioned, that the children who were adults were given the choice of reunification. If I am correct, they were also offered a place in the United States military depending on their qualifications. I would hazard a guess that Sean took that offer, and well, you can see what happened.

I would also like to present another letter, written by an Alex Summers. Mr. Summers was also a member of the air force that I mentioned earlier. It seems to depict a scenario in which one sibling joined the U.S. military and the other one stayed in Sorokino. How do we know that the Scott addressed in this letter stayed in Sorokino? Attached to this letter was a series of dated photographs, labeled Scott and family which shows them in Sorokino. If Scott and his family stayed in Sorokino, my assumption is that they were evacuated to St. Petersburg due to war preparations. I had my students trace any travel records mentioning a Scott Summers, but as Sorokino has their own aircraft at the time, his name did not show in the Russian evacuation records. Even then, we assume that if he arrived safely, he would not be registered under his American name.

The last letter I would like to present is a completely different scenario, where parent and child were reunited but the father chose to join the U.S. military instead of staying with his wife and child. There is a photograph attached to this letter, identifying the Liz mentioned in the letter as Elizabeth, Doris and Adrian Toomes. We have also found some other personal belongings of Elizabeth. From readings of Dr. Lector's notes it would seem that Elizabeth and her mother had made plans to move to the Netherlands, who enforced strict anonymity laws at the time to prevent Gilead from extracting any so called sinners. If they did move to the Netherlands there is a strong chance that they would have settled down to relatively normal lives. The Netherlands chose to remain neutral, as much as possible. As such I hope that there might be descendants of Elizabeth who would like to have these family heirlooms return to them.

In fact, if you look into our archives now, you can find certain items that can be returned, given that the descendants can be found- oh sorry, did I went over the time limit? My apologies, we will continue this lecture after lunch.


	17. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony flies off with Hank and Steve to Sorokino, as the final piece in the puzzle.

_As we go marching, marching, in the beauty of the day_

_A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill lofts gray_

_Are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses_

_For the people hear us singing, bread and roses, bread and roses_

_\- Bread and Roses, Caroline Kohlsaat_

The reply didn't came as soon as he thought. Tony went about his usual schedule. Check the inbox, have breakfast, try to smile through an awkward one sided conversation with the retiree Judy, and try not to dwell on past mistakes. It was one of those good days for Judy, he thinks, the older woman was talking animatedly about a vacation she's taken twenty years ago with her family, rather than staring blankly at the wall. The neighbors sharing the flat didn't really have time for Judy, from what Tony gathered, she was one of the lucky ones to have been evacuated in time, but none of her family could be found. Assuming they wanted to be found, maybe none of her children liked her. Speaking of children... What would Morgan think when they meet again? Would she even recognize him?

He nearly jumps out of his seat when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

Meet at Tuntutuliak Seaplane Base. Pay for trip in CASH.

Tony types back;

Message received.

There was a pause, and the phone buzzes again.

Ask for Matthew and Charlie at stop.

That was a long way from Anchorage, how nice of the two to pick such a far off location. Tony wonders if they plan to smuggle themselves out by plane. Certainly that was a possibility, as the remnants of the U.S. government seemed to have holed themselves in Anchorage. Piracy definitely wouldn't be top of their priority list, all things considered, most people relied on smuggled goods anyway, government rations stretched thin as it is.

"Sorry, Judy, I got to go." he said to the older woman, patting her hand gently.

Judy seemed to not recognize his departure as she continued chatting away at an invisible audience. Poor woman.

His room didn't have much stuff in it. Not that he came to Alaska with a lot of stuff, since those bastards made religious forfeiture a thing. They've cited his numerous bar visits, they even had receipts in the very nice formal letter they sent to him in Canberra. Thinking about it now even makes him angry. He roughly pulls his suitcase from its place underneath his bed and begins tossing his clothes from the drawers into it. He pauses to pull his laptop, his actual laptop mind you, not the government issued one from between the mattress to place carefully between the layer of clothes. And that was it, his life, now packed into a suitcase. Closing it with a snap he stands up and walks to the door, not bothering with a lock. They would probably find his replacement soon, there's definitely a waiting list for a room as _nice _as his.

He pulls out the phone's SIM as he leaves the shared apartment, snapping it and the memory card into five pieces which he deposits in his pocket. The phone he wraps in a discarded wrapping paper he found on top of the residential trash cans, before using a nearby discarded pole to push it into the bottom of the pile. May the environmental gods forgive him. As for the remnants in his pockets, he carefully tosses them into several trash cans on the way to the Anchorage train station. It was nice, almost not being stopped on his way there. While he thinks some people recognize him, the celebrity culture and gossip definitely took a swan dive after the Hollywood bombings. A part of him is glad to just walk down the street without the paparazzi.

At the ticket gate he presents his I.D. card to the attendant fiddling on his phone; who took the card, briefly glanced at the plastic card before typing its details on his computer.

"Destination?" asked the attendant, idly twiddling a pencil between his fingers.

"Tuntutuliak." said Tony.

"When d'you wanna leave?" the attendant continued, typing on the computer.

"As soon as possible, please." said Tony.

"Return ticket?" asked the attendant, pausing in his typing.

"No, thanks." said Tony.

"Cash or card?" said the attendant, handling Tony a tablet with the trip details.

Two hundred and thirty seven Canadian dollars was the price written on the screen, ANCHORAGE to TUNTUTULIAK, DEPARTURE 12:30, ARRIVAL 15:45. Tony winced internally. What a blow to the U.S. economy, if they've started, no resorted to using Canadian dollars. It wasn't even a first class ticket. He pulls out his wallet from his pocket, handing the money to the attendant.

  
"The last stop's yours. Have a nice day." said the attendant flippantly, turning back to his phone.

Tony didn't expect to see anyone waiting on the deserted platform except some workers commuting to their morning jobs, and when the train pulled into the platform he settled in for a boring ride through the deserted Alaskan wilderness. Or what remained of it, he knows there's been a massive push for the government to expand from Anchorage outwards. Though you didn't need to have a degree to know that every news reported in Anchorage has been censored with a fine red pen.

He must've dozed off, because he's awakened by a sharp tap to his shoulder by the train conductor.

"Last stop." said the conductor, "You leaving?"

Everyone was short tempered these days, Tony wonders if it's because they're all on edge or it was just an Alaskan thing, maybe the cold has that effect on people. Taking his suitcase in his hand he walks out of the train, stepping out into the train station platform.

"Matthew and Charlie, got it." he muttered to himself, wondering if the blond man's name was Matthew and if Hank was a nickname from Charlie. Certainly he's seen stranger nicknames.

The Indian woman at the ticket box glances up at him when he approached the ticket window.

"Hello, I'm looking for Matthew and Charlie."

She stared at him, raising an eyebrow as she took in his suitcase and haphazardly buttoned coat.

"They'll be at the airport hotel." she said, "Don't take anyone's offer to drive you there, it's about fifteen, twenty minutes' walk from the station. Just take a left when you get out of this building and go straight."

"Thank you." said Tony.

Tuntutuliak wasn't Anchorage, so he didn't expect the usual thrum of people moving about, or the chatter. Someone higher up definitely ordered for housing to be built as he could see the skeletons of the same apartment complex he's been living in being erected on his way to the hotel. On his way there, three people in cars called out to him, and he waved back with a dismissive hand. A part of him was glad that his suitcase was as disheveled as he probably looked.

The hotel, when he reached it, definitely had seen better days, judging from the broken neon sign that barely blinked out the words Seaside Harbor. Nearby, from what he could see was an old airport, probably abandoned, if he was being honest, most flights come through Anchorage now. He breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped into the lobby and heard Hank's voice talking to the hotel receptionist. Tony was not blind and could clearly see an attempted flirtation when he saw it.

"You know, my sister used to go on and on about these chocolate things, she said that's all she ever missed, the chocolate and the malls." Hank said, gesturing wildly while leaning against the hotel counter.

"They don't have malls, up where you are?" said the receptionist, looking amused. Tony thinks she is slightly older than Hank, possibly entertaining herself with younger man's attention. Certainly what else could you do here if you were a receptionist?

"They do, but you have no idea, no idea how long it takes to get to one. It's like a treat or something when we get to go, but I don't go, because space is limited and I always figure if I wanted something I'll have one of them get it for me."

"Sounds very noble of you." said the woman, "Is that why you bought all the M&Ms from Kimberly, you're paying them back?"

"Well yes, and no, it's for the younger kids." said Hank, "They've never had the stuff before."

Tony blinks at the phrase _younger kids_, filing it in the back of his mind. While he knew that Anchorage had a school for children, they're under such heavy guard that no one really ever sees them on the street anymore. He clears his throat and the two turned to look at him.

"I'm here." said Tony.

"Well, that was fast of you." said Hank, "We didn't expect you until tomorrow. Amber, can I pay you now for the extra person?"

"You should." said Amber, writing something down on the notepad in front of her "Under the same name, right?"

"Yes, please." said Hank, "You'll be with us on the third floor, Charlie."

At Tony's confused look, he gave an open handed shrug.

"It is a very popular name now." said Amber, "Sorry that I can't give you the keys, Charlie, there's only two copies a room, and boss would get on my case if I gave you mine."

"C'mon," said Hank, "I'll show you to the room, and we can catch up properly."

Hank, Tony decided, must have grown up in a barn. Why else would he come up with such inane questions?

"What is summer like?" was the first question he was bombarded with as he sat down on the rather thread worn sofa. He had been promptly informed by Hank upon entering the hotel room that there was no need to unpack. Though judging by the state of the room, he didn't think they would be staying long.

Matthew briefly glanced up when they entered, and gave a half hearted wave, but went back to whatever he was reading in front of him.

"Sorry?" Tony replied, confused.

"You know," said Hank, "Summer. Is it actually nice in summer? Like, walk out without your shirt on, pool party, sunbathing- is that what you would do?"

"Well..." Tony had hesitated, "Yes? Why do you ask?"

"Wow... that sounds so cool." Hank said, his eyes glinting, "Summer's not a thing when I grew up." he replied, then continued, "Did you visit the Great Barrier Reef when you were in Sydney?"

"No." said Tony, "There wasn't time." he noted that Hank had scribbled down something in his notebook at every single one of his answers.

"What a shame. I'd like to know if the corals recovered..." Hank muttered to himself before asking yet another question, "Did you jet ski?"

"Not my kind of thing no." said Tony.

"What about a yacht? Did you actually have your own yacht?"

"Yes?" said Tony, and seeing Matthew's raised eyebrow, continued, feeling defensive, "It was my father's."

  
"Inherited wealth, noted-" said Hank, and he made to ask another question, but Matthew stepped in.

"Hank, this isn't an anthropology class." he said, frowning, and Hank blushed. Matthew turned to Tony, "If you want dinner, there's a store that sells some stuff two houses from us, you have to knock and ask."

Tony thought he would say more but Matthew turned back to the book he was reading.

He had only stayed with them for a day before he wanted to know who stuck the stick up Matthew's ass and how he would go about removing it. Was he the same man that gave Tony a thumbs up and a smile a couple of days ago or has he been replaced another blond clone. Certainly the man didn't talk much, when he did it was in Russian or French to Hank and only a good morning to Tony. What was his deal?

Chance dropped him a freebie when Hank stepped out to get them breakfast and Matthew went off to shower. He placed the circular item he'd been fiddling with all day on the nightstand, and Tony seeing the opportunity, decided to take a look.

The circular object it turned out, was a well worn compass, which opened to show three portraits. One was definitely older than the others, a blond woman in her graduation gown, behind her a university logo of three palm trees. He could recognize that logo anywhere, his mother had her Mount Holyoke College graduation certificate framed in the living room. The other picture was one of a brunette woman in uniform, her hair curled in a very old forties fashion. Classical, one could say. The last picture was one of a man in military uniform, his cap tilted to the side. Definitely not military standard the hat placement, and he was smiling widely at the camera.

"Do you like snooping through other peoples' things?" said Matthew from behind him.

Tony flinched back, the compass falling to the floor. Matthew was standing by the bathroom door, already dressed, looking like someone took a flaming dump on the American flag.

"Sorry-" said Tony, and his brain decided to blurt out, "though that's a very nice ménage à trois you have there."

"One of them is my mother you absolute-"

It dissolved into Russian, though Tony thinks that insults could be understood regardless of the language. Matthew scowled, his ears red, and picking up the compass from the floor, stalked out of the room. The

"Oh wow." Hank said, the paper packages in hand, staring at the open door, "You manage to tick off Mr. Rogers. That's one for the books."

So that was his name. Rogers. Certainly fitted him, he didn't sound like a Matthew.

Rogers gave him the cold shoulder the next morning, and Hank busied himself with wrapping what looked like various bags of candies in discarded packaging paper, carefully labeling them with a marker.

"I'm going out to get breakfast." he announced, to silence in the room, "Do you want anything?"

"No, I'm good." said Hank, and Rogers shrugged from his place on the bed.

"Alright, I'm leaving."

He didn't go to the kiosk for food. He went for a log walk instead, wondering all the while if he had wasted his time. As he rounded the corner to the center of the tiny town though, he spotted a soldier, no several soldiers in the distance. That was odd. He made to go forward but the nagging suspicion in his brain decided otherwise. Tony ducked into a corner between two houses, pulling his hood up before walking out.

He walks casually pass the soldiers towards the airport, heart beating. Surely he hadn't gotten himself into something illegal? It must be just regular checking of shipment, he tries to reassure himself, though he knew at the back of his mind that it was not possible. Tony breathes a sigh of relief when he walks pass the soldiers, unnoticed in the thread worn coat.

Hank and Rogers was talking when he bursts into the room.

"Do soldiers come here often?" he blurted out.

Hank blinks at him, then turned to Rogers. The blond man stood up and walks toward the windows, snapping the blinds open to look left and right.

Hank gave him a shrug, then said, pushing his glasses back on his nose, "I don't know, but good news, our flight got bumped up."

"So... what's happening?" asked Tony, frowning, "I don't understand-"

"We are-" Rogers, paused, turning from the window to look at Hank, "Leaving."

The blond man hefted his backpack from the floor into his shoulder and picked up Tony's suitcase, nearly shoving them both aside as he walked out into the corridor.

"Hey, wait, I want to carry that-" said Tony, hurrying after him.

Tony stepped out in the hallway and saw that Rogers had true to his word left Tony's suitcase on the floor, Hank paused, frowning.

"Give me a second, I'll lock the door." he said, as he fumbled around for his keys, "It's the polite thing to do." he turned to Tony, indicating to the corridors and the staircase "Go ahead and catch up with Rogers, I'll see you in a bit, I got to turn in our room too."

Tony follows Rogers at a brisk jog to the small hangar, a couple of hundred yards away from the hotel airport.

"Where's Hank, did he give you the keys?" said Rogers, holding out an open hand towards him.

"No? He's returning them-"

"Not those keys-the ones for the hangar!" exclaimed Rogers.

The blond man looks slightly panicked, and glances back at the hotel, but he breathes deeply when they both saw the sight Hank jogging towards them.

"Sorry, sorry." said Hank, "I got the keys, hold on."

  
The younger man unlocks the hangar door and when the three men stepped inside,

Hank flicks a switch. Three of the four lights turned on an illuminated a small amphibious airplane. Very small, considering all it was a single engine with a small cabin behind that and underneath the wings were a pair of floats which sat upon a set of deployed landing gear.

Rogers walks over to the main hangar entrance and began pulling the shuttered entrance door open though it looked to weigh several hundred pounds, he did so with surprising ease. The doors must be plastic then, There was no way they could be steel.

"Give me your suitcase." said Hank from beside the airplane. He'd opened a small hatch and was busy loading Roger's bag, and his suitcase. "Thanks." he said, when Tony hands him the suitcase.

  
When the luggage was stored Hank steps over to the passenger door, motioning for Tony to follow him. There was a painted bear insignia on the door, Tony noted, but no national flags.

"Passengers first," he said, gesturing for Tony to step in.

Hank climbed into one of the pilot's seats in the front when Tony got himself seated in the passenger seat towards the back. He began flicking a number of switches covered in foreign letters, possibly Russian. There was a sudden jolt as the plane began to roll forwards.

_It was moving without an engine?_

Tony stood up in his seat, as much as the plane could allow and glanced out the window. He blinked. Rogers was pulling the airplane, like a child pulling a toy cart outside of the hangar and onto the taxi way.

"What. The. Fuck." he said to Hank, who was flicking through what Tony thinks was a pilot's manual.

Without stopping a beat, Hank replied "Don't risk him throwing you out of the plane for cursing, he's very proper."

"Who, Rogers? The man with-"

The man in question swung open the pilot door and hauled himself into the seat next to Hank.

"Yes." said Hank.

Tony made to say more, but stopped at the serious look on both their faces as the two pilots began running over their flight check.

"Flaps?" asked Rogers.

"Check." answered Hank.

  
"Rudder control?"

"Check."

"Yaw control?"

"Check."

"Landing gear?"

"Obviously."

"Fuel tank?"

"Two hundred and twenty."

As Hank concluded the checklist the engine roared to life, and the two put on their headsets. Hank turned to Tony and pulled out from his pocket a set of ear plugs.

"You might want to put this on." he said.

As the plane taxied to the end of the runway, Tony saw out the window a three black vans and a military looking truck drive pass on the other side of the chain link fence separating them from the road. The plane slowly made its way to the airport facility building, and Tony heard Rogers exclaimed through his ear plugs.

"Take off clearance acknowledge! Thank you tower!"

The engine revved off beneath them at full power and the airplane speeded along, the plane beginning to take off. The two black vans from before, Tony saw, was rolling in towards the hangar to where they've been not ten minutes before.

"What's all that down there, did you do something illegal?" he called out, but his shout was drowned out by the headsets and the plane engine as the plane climbed higher and higher.

_Well that's just great._ With no one to talk to and no parachute as option B tony resigned to himself to whatever mess he's gotten himself. _Might as well get some shut eye. _

When he woke up they still flying again, but the engine was a lot quieter. _They must be cruising then_. Rogers was humming something under his breath, and it took Tony a moment to realize what the song was. _Bread and Roses, haven't heard that one in a while. _He leaned forward to nudge Hank on the shoulder.

"Where are we?" he asked Hank.

"You really need that sleep then," said Hank, "you slept through our refueling stop and me chasing off some seagulls- that was pretty brave wasn't it Rogers, I nailed one on the head with a rock."

"It only wanted your sandwich, next time just give it to it." said Rogers mildly, then resuming his humming.

Hank frowns, "But it's Alaskan salmon!" he protested.

"Where are we?" Tony asked again.

"That way." said Hank pointing forward.

Tony rolls his eyes, and looks at his watch, remembering the trick that his father taught him on one of their camping trips. Howard had told him that you could find the direction of north by aligning your watch with the sun. Looking at his watch he cursed realizing it was digital. _I did throw out the family heirloom after the old man died._

A few more minutes passed rather quietly except for Roger's humming. Hank suddenly spoke up, indicating and pointing frantically at a snowy peak rising up through the low clouds

"You see that? That peak? That's where I almost died at fifteen.

"What?" Tony snapped, shocked.

Rogers raised an eyebrow.

"Oh you, know father son bonding trip."

This explanation seemed to satisfy Rogers, who rolled his eyes, muttering a name under his breath.

They came into land after a few more of Hank's landmarks. _What kind of childhood did this kid have? _Rogers slowly pointed the nose of the plane down and they began a slow descend into the low hanging clouds, the peak of the mountains rising ever closer like the teeth of some great beast. _A bear. We're going to crash and die horribly. _

Just as the thoughts ran through his head the plane descended below the cloud level. He saw that they weren't that high anymore and less than a mile ahead of them a set of runways blinked in the distance, an invitation to land. The landscape was grey and snowy, and the buildings that Tony saw out the window was similarly grey and uninviting.

"Landing skids?" said Rogers.

"Check." said Hank.

He feels the familiar popping in his ears as the plane descends. The engine slowly quiets down from a roar to a soft purr as they ran down the runaway. In the distance Tony could see two lights waving and growing closer and closer. _A welcoming party, what a surprise. _

  
"Welcome to Sorokino." said Hank, when the plane grounded to a halt, he added, Tony's puzzled look, clarified, "Somewhere in Russia."

"Grab a coat." said Rogers, "It'll be cold outside."

He wasn't wrong. The plane door swung open to an unbearably icy cold wind. Tony could feel the sharpness of the air against his throat. _That's cold. Very cold. _

Rogers had already stepped outside, opening the hatch and pulling out his backpack. Tony's suitcase was promptly handed to him, and Rogers turns to their welcome party. Though it was quite hard to tell exactly who they were, bundled up as they both were in the same blue coats and scarves. Rogers smiled though, so that was something.

One of the blue coats said something to Rogers, who answered with a nod. The blond man turns to Tony.

"I'll see you later." he said, and with that, he walked off with one of Russians.

It felt like being shipped off to boarding school for a moment. On his left, Hank was talking animatedly with the other Russian. The younger man paused when he saw Tony.

"Oh, oops. I'm taking up your time. Sorry. I meant to leave anyways. See you around, Angel." he pats the other figure on the shoulder.

Angel shakes her head at Hank, then said, "Go on, I know the kids wanted to see you and your stash anyway." The stash was emphasized with quotation marks.

She holds out a hand towards Tony. "My name is Ms. Lensherr, I've been assigned to be your guide."

Tony paused for a moment. "Wasn't it Angel?" he said.

The hand was withdrawn. "First names privileges are earned, not granted here." said Angel. "And you'd be wise to introduce yourself other than your family name. People around here aren't fond of your family's history with weapons manufacturing."

_Well that was quite a welcome. _


End file.
